Sandwiched
I know I write about one side of my sandwich generation more than the other in this column – my mother. But today I’ll focus on the family that I live with and see every day, which includes my husband John and my two teenage sons, Jonathon and Jacob.
Since this is Valentine’s Day, I decided to write about one way I show my family love, which is through cooking. I truly enjoy cooking. Well, I like to cook when I have the time to do a great job and can relax during the process. Weekday dinners aren’t quite as enjoyable or fantastic because I’m typically in a rush.
Our family’s meal plans have changed recently due to John and I eating low-carb. It’s been a fun adventure discovering new recipes and trying them out, and for the most part, the boys like them.
Sometimes, however, they have to put up with my “cooking mishaps” as I call them.
John and I took Jacob and his girlfriend Madison to an Indy Fuel hockey game a couple of weeks ago on a Thursday evening (Jonathon had to work). Before we left, I tried out a new recipe that included peppers, onions, cilantro, tomatoes, and eggs. It was kind of a Mexican poached egg concoction.
John and I loved it and I decided to put it into our recipe rotation. Jacob couldn’t eat with us due to show choir practice, so I put his portion in a thermos to eat on the way down to the game.
As he and Madison sat in the backseat, he ate his dinner. And unfortunately encountered some surprises – eggshell bits. Somehow I didn’t do a great job with cracking the eggs on his side of the pan. The poor kid pulled out four to five bits from his dinner with little complaint.
I apologized profusely to him then had to shake my head. I realized that my family has put up with a lot of my mishaps over the years. If I shared all of them with you, they’d take up a dozen columns. Instead I’ll share one more story.
In December of 2010, I was baking Christmas sugar cookies while chatting on the phone with my friend Lise. I popped dozens of them into the oven and was pleased at how nice and golden they turned out minutes later. I sprinkled red and green sugar over each one.
When we sat down to enjoy them later that day, our faces filled with surprise – they weren’t sweet. I had completely forgotten to add the sugar into the dough! Our family quickly dubbed them “Christmas biscuits.” To this day, it’s one of our favorite inside jokes.
Yep, I sure like to show my family how much I love them through cooking. Strictly on Saturday and Sundays, of course.