A Lesson in Patience

When you really stop to think about it, you can learn a lot of important lessons in the kitchen. I write a lot on here about lessons I've learned in the past, but as a professor, one of the biggest things I stress to my students is continuing to learn. I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't take my own advice, right? But, these days, learning new things can be difficult. Having a toddler and being a full-time mommy often means that I'm spending time reading books to my son that I read as a child, teaching him how to point his toes as he walks down the balance beam like I used to during gymnastics classes, or watching episodes of Sesame Street with him that, although new, contain some of the same characters and messages that I enjoyed when I was a kid.

The same can be said about lessons in the kitchen. As parents, we have to teach the basics: Don't touch that, it's hot; don't touch that, it's sharp; don't eat that, it's raw; don't drink that, it's mommy's "juice". What I've had to learn though is much more difficult than just keeping my hand away from a hot surface. You see, my kitchen used to be my Zen place. I could go there and get lost in a recipe while I listened to my music with a good glass of red wine in one hand and a cooking tool in the other. I could spin around and whip things from stovetop, to oven, to countertop without a care in the world.

These days, I generally have to refrain from carrying sharp, fragile, or hot objects around for fear of tripping over my toddler or stepping on a toy. Frequently, my thought processes are interrupted by requests for snacks or to reprimand him for getting into the garbage can and throwing trash about the floor. And, while I'm still able to listen to music, even that has changed slightly to more upbeat, dance jams that'll keep him blissfully spinning in circles, dropping it like it's hot, raising the roof, or whatever odd little dance he's chosen to perform so that I can finish what I need to do.

Needless to say, I take lots of deep breaths, try not to kick the toys in the general direction of my child's head, and overall just try to exercise patience. I tell myself at night while lying in bed reviewing the day that there will come a time when I'll want him near me to glean whatever he can about cooking, learning, and life so that he grows up to be a well-rounded, self-sufficient man. And what will I do then if he doesn't want to hang out with me? How will I convince him to even just sit there and taste-test what I'm cooking while we have deep, philosophical conversations if I kick him out now and force him to keep himself entertained elsewhere?

I realize that the chances of me capturing his undivided attention will probably be slim to none once he's older and for that reason, I'm practicing patience. Instead of my yummy glass of wine, I'm holding raisins or goldfish crackers. Instead of zipping around and spinning on my heels, I'm checking near my ankles before I make a move. Instead of being in the zone, I'm zoning in and out and taking the occasional dance break with him just to let him know that I'm happy he's there. It's not easy, but like most challenging tasks, it's necessary so when it's time for him to absorb his own kitchen lessons, he'll listen, laugh, and learn just like I did when I was a kid.