In life, as a parent, you hope to pass on some of your qualities to your children. Instill certain values and such that you think will benefit them in life.
And then there are times you don’t.
It is no secret that I am not a huge fan of cooking. Mainly because everything I touch turns to charcoal. Or fire. Or is fit only for the garbage can. (And even then I feel guilty about doing such harm to an innocent object.) It is so bad that I actually was contacted by a producer at Oprah when they were doing a story on Chaos in the home and they were fascinated by my horror stories. (The story was cut, but the tradition continued.) Disaster in the kitchen is common enough that no one was shocked or surprised last night when my son calmly asked, “What should I do about the flames in the oven?” The only person who reacted with alarm was me when I shouted, “I am NOT COOKING! You probably need to check it out!” (A girl has to claim her victories and her innocence when ever she can!)
Are you getting the picture here? Me + Cooking = Disaster
No shame. No blame. Just flames. (ha! See how I did that whole rhyme thing?)
Anyway, the point.
Last night one of my children who shall not be named decided to make a pizza. When I wandered in for a piece I was a bit grumpy to see that it was gone. But wait. There was no evidence it was eaten. It was then that I found this:
I am pretty sure that was NOT what the pizza was supposed to look like. In fact, I have photographic evidence that it was supposed to look like this:
A proud moment for this Mom. Ahhhh, the sheer joy of passing down the Fire in the Kitchen gene.
But damn. I really wanted that pizza!
I’ve made pizza that looks like that.
Just without the pineapple.
wow. That box makes it looks so pretty and delicious. Does it ever, EVAH resemble the picture?
LOL! Sorry about the pizza but wow..said daughter seems to take after you and man, that has to make you proud. Chip off the old block and all of that. My oldest decided she wanted a pot tart a few months ago, and decided to MICROWAVE it. For what reason, I’m not sure. There is a toaster right there that screams LET GO OF MY EGGO. But whatever. I had to throw away the plate. It was THAT bad.
The thing you have to remember is that you are not a bad cook. It is just that as a busy mother you get distracted and your attention has to be on a thousand different things at the same time… so it is easy to forget that you have put the family’s dinner in the oven.
My kids think that pizza is meant to be black, so your child got it right. That is what I have told them. “Char-grilled” is the culinary term. They know when dinner is ready as it is signalled by the fire alarm going off…
I cook, but our dining room is FULL of unfolded laundry that I never seem to get to. Pick your battles!
My husband used to cook that way – then I introduced him to two marvelous advancements in oven cookery – the temperature gauge and the timer. Our timer is highly advanced – you only need touch the number of minutes on the keypad, and the timer automatically starts. Magic. Or rather, voo-doo to my husband!
Anyway…Moogie – don’t know Jenn’s family, but she doesn’t say the genetic recipient is a girl. It seems more like something my SON would do! LOL!