Tough Love

"You're the best mom in the world," my son J. said as he tackled me from the side. I was standing at the stove, stirring macaroni and cheese from the box--the cheap brand, not Kraft. (Before you call me a tightwad, which I am, so I wouldn't mind, I should tell you that my kids actually prefer the cheap stuff. Once when our kids were toddlers, my husband made them the fancy Kraft stuff, totally ignoring the directions on the box. He eyeballed the proportion of butter and milk, all the while assuring me that he ate Kraft Dinner quite often as a child and knew exactly what he was doing. When he mixed the packet of orange "cheeze" he ended up with a soupy sauce, to which he added--now get this--pepper. Yes, you heard me right. Pepper. Normally, my husband is a genius with spices. He can throw together a lovely spaghetti sauce with nary a recipe, and as for barbecue, I've never met anyone who can cook up a dead animal like he can. But pepper on mac-n-cheese? For our kids? It was not a surprise when all three took one bite and said, "Yuck. What'd you put on this?")

 

So, I was standing there cooking for my youngest, when he rammed into me and said this very nice thing, to which I should have replied, "I love you too." But my youngest is not a small kid. He's what you'd call husky. That's why, when he threw his body into this love tackle, I instinctively said, "Ouch!" and rubbed my ribs. 

"Sploosh," my kid said in response. In embarrassment he had lapsed into this cartoon language of his, sound effects you'd hear after Wiley Coyote just got hosed by the Road Runner. Only, I'm never the Road Runner in these scenarios. 

Take climbing the stairs, for example. Our house is a split level, so we go up and down the stairs roughly a million times a day. About a year ago, I noticed that if we all happened to head upstairs at the same moment, the kids literally shoved me aside and ran past. There was no Ladies First, just "Beat ya to the top!" I realized then that if I were to survive in this house, I would have to learn to see everything as a sport. We have fourteen stairs in all. That translates to fourteen yards. And with or without a ball, if you make it to the top first you've made a touchdown. Unfortunately, I was the kid in junior high physical education class who hardly ever got the ball, even if I was wide open. My so-called team mates knew that if they did pass it to me, I'd just run the wrong way. Somehow, my kids know this about me too.  

But it's all good. I know that, aside from the stairs, these little football moves are done out of affection, much like the dead mice and birds my cat brings me as gifts. All I can do is take the love I'm offered in whatever form it comes. I've come to accept that I'll never make the winning shot. But I'm willing to take one for the team.  

Comments

[Jan]

Ha ha. Tracy wasn't sure about the soupy version when he first tried it. Mac and cheese has evolved into a more middle ground at our house. A little soupy/a little thicker. But it HAS to be covered with salt and pepper. Yummy.

[Nicole]

Team soupy and peppered!

[LauraB.]

My kids prefer the cheap mac and cheese as well, so why bother slaving over the stove to make the good stuff. Mac and cheese from the blue box is Emma's favorite staple at college, especially with barbeque sauce. She's quite the gourmet cook now. All of her roommates just love it when she makes her special mac and cheese!

[Dana]

Well, I cannot ignore the mac and cheese debate - by the way we always called it Kraft Dinner, which is why Rick probably thought it was the only kind to buy. As far as his mixing and seasoning, he is doing it totally the way I did. We liked it soupy and peppered. Yep! I imprinted my way of fixing it in his mind. It is ok with me if he has changed, but for me I still like the soupy variety. No wonder your kids looked at me with with raised eyebrows the last time I fixed it for them.