Bought With My Very Own Hands

After reading my musings and rants it can't come as a great shock that I am not much of a cook.  More accurately I should say that I loathe and detest all things in the kitchen.  If I have to put more than one thing in a microwave I feel that I've cooked a full dinner.  I try not sputter and swear every time I cook but I make no promises.  You won't find me pining over kitchen renovation magazines. I could be in a gourmet kitchen with all the fancy toys and gadgets, with a self-stocking pantry and I'd still have a drawer full of delivery menus. Truth be told if I was wealthy enough to have that kitchen I'd have two drawers.

I was raised by a woman that hated cooking. My mother equated cooking with laundry and cleaning the bathroom; a chore to be completed. That's pretty much how I view it. I am responsible for dinner usually 5 days a week and by Friday I hate everyone and everything around me.  Ted cooks on the weekend because he loves it so damn much.  He's very sweet and polite and always asks me what I want for dinner.  I in turn always respond with a clever, "I couldn't care less if I actively tried" or my personal favorite, " To not cook.  That's all I want."

When it comes to the social obligation of bringing a nibbles over to a friends house I prefer to outsource it. I see nothing wrong with driving miles out of my way to stop at a bakery and spend $10 bucks on something that looks good, tastes fabulous and most importantly of all, I didn't have to make it.  Any time there is a all hands call at the school for baked goods you can count on me to stop off at the grocery store and pick up adorable cupcakes. Who doesn't love adorable cupcakes?

Yet every time I do this and I comment how I "bought this this my very own hands" I'm met with either a condescending smile or an effusive, "Oh you are such a jokester!"  Um, no I'm not. I'm serious. I didn't bake this and I don't think it means less than the stuff you did.

I've volunteered at enough school events that I have overheard woman make comments about those *shudder* store bought  items. It's as if they are somehow drenched in dirt and poly saturated fats. All the  women in the room are expected to wrinkle their noses and wring their hands in horror.  The delectable treats weren't made with that special touch of love that only a mother has so obviously they are inferior. 

I think that's utter crap. My mother love-filled concoctions look like something fed to the really bad criminals at Rikers Island.  Do we honestly want to serve up dish of that to perspective students?  I think they should be MORE impressed with my offerings.  I have respected my limitations, adapted and overcome the problem.  More importantly I have spared them the burden of eating my animosity-filled cooking. Where's my love?

I understand the importance of recognizing effort. Of course I do.  Hard work deserves recognition and I always, very sincerely, thank those that cook and bake for my family.  But if they love it so much are they really going through extra effort?  Does the food taste that much better because someone made it at home?

I am going to a friends house in a few days for tea so we can discuss how to keep our daughters from killing each other.  It's a very tense situation as both of our girls have extremely poor communication skills and can pick a fight about anything.  This could easily end fairly viciously with the moms not talking and the girls facing off against each other at dawn with gorgeous, yet quite sharp glittery scissors.  This is an important meeting of the minds and both of us need our "A" games.

Can anyone honestly say that I would show her more respect by showing up sleep-deprived, in a foul mood with a lopsided bread that looks and tastes like concrete?  My friend will be moved to have a rational discussion with me because I've shown her my baking skills with cookies that serve also as door stops?  Be serious, with that tone set we're more likely to end the session with a sputtering, "....and the horse your candy-assed kid rode in on!"

Nope.  Not worth it. After I drop off the kids at school I'm driving in heavy traffic past her house to the bakery to pick up a gorgeous tea cake. I'll drive back to her house and ruck up to the door saying, "Bought with my own hands" and we will separate still friends and hopefully have helped our daughters.

That's the special touch of love only a mother has. At least this one does.