Monday was one of those days. A pandemic Monday that started off terribly. I’ll accept the blame for part of that terribleness — I’d stayed up too late Sunday night. So, perhaps I was a bit more emotional and easier to upset on Monday.
But much of the awfulness clearly was my son’s fault. First, I had to ask him to get dressed about 17 times over the course of 30 minutes. Then, when it was time for breakfast, I placed his usual waffles in front of him, and he said he wanted a cookie. I reminded him we don’t eat cookies for breakfast. (Even though, truth be told, I have been known to sneak one myself in the morning. Bwahahaha.) But then, he behaved in a way that is extremely rare for him. There was pouting and crying. He asked again, I said no again, he disappeared from the table, he stomped and hid in his room until we were almost late.
When we started toward school, he darted out ahead of me — and then, even after I caught up, he didn’t want to speak to me until we were almost at school. It was without a doubt the worst walk to school we’ve ever had.
I kept my cool. I gave him a hug. But my walk home was a miniature pity party. What just happened? Why did he dig in about the cookie? Should I have given in? (No.) How can I focus on work now? Should I crawl back into bed?
That morning with my son affected my ability to work, to eat, to engage with others for the whole day. I felt … out of sorts.
A Shift in Mood
But when I picked him up from school, he was in a good mood. At home, I offered him a cookie, and we were able to somewhat joke about his piss-poor attitude from the morning.
Even with the smiles and hugs, I still felt pretty blah, though, so I asked him if he wanted to snuggle and read. We snuggled and played a math enrichment game on the iPad and a little Plants vs. Zombies, which I don’t think I’ll ever understand.
Then, a really cool thing happened. It was time to start dinner, and I asked if he wanted to help. He instantly said yes. It was the first time other than our recent baking that he’s been interested.
The Best Part of Cooking
And boy, was he interested. He was interested in learning how to make “Mommy Chicken No. 1” and how I make my chipotle mustard vinaigrette salad dressing. I showed him how to turn on the grill. He watered the garden. He sliced tomatoes and cucumbers for the salad. He tasted raw garlic. He sampled the dressing to make sure it tasted right.
And then he proclaimed: “The best part about cooking is eating.”
The eating’s pretty great, I’ll admit, but I’d argue the best part of cooking is: him.