Monday, February 10, 2014

Made with Love

"Mmmmm.  Honey this is a-MAY-zing.  Boys you have no idea now but when you get older you will really appreciate how awesome of a cook your Mumma is."

When my husband is home and we eat dinner together, this is generally what he says every night as we dig in.
It never, ever gets old.

I usually bore my family then with how I made it, the ingredients I used and blah, blah, blah.  One of us usually ends up cheesily finishing the conversation off with the most important ingredient of all.  The intangible one that's four letters long and starts with the letter 'L'.

You are all excused to go gag for a moment.  Then come on back when your finished if you dare.


The boys sat in front of their plates of homemade creamy, cheesy penne with roasted chicken and roasted brocolli on the side.  Their father was not there to declare his utmost devotion to my food creations and so I just hoped to God that they would actually eat instead of driving me nuts.

"Fin, what does it taste like?"  Adrian asked his brother, who was shockingly focused on gobbling up the roasted broccolli but had yet to taste the pasta.

"Adrian have I ever made a dinner that's tasted bad?"  I was treading on dangerous territory with that question but the truth is that other than Eggplant Parmigan and bacon that's too crispy my eldest is far from a picky eater.

"Mommy, I think that if you were in a food show that you would win."  He says.

Uh huh.  Nice try.

"You do?  Well thanks. So how about eating your dinner then if I'm such a great chef."

"No. I mean maybe you would win with your desserts."  Back pedal, back pedal.  Sometimes I am smarter than my 6 year old.  Sometimes.  "Your desserts are really good."

I would not be buttered up, flattered or cajoled...oh no I would not.

"Buddy.  Eat your dinner please."

He stabbed a penne noodle with his fork and into his mouth it went.  "It's gooood!"

"Of-course it's good.  It's pasta with cheese and cream.  How could it be bad?"

"Mmm. Goat cheese?  No.  No...I"

He looked at me through squinty, smiley blue eyes, his right cheek imparting that adorable dimple.

Oh my but he knows how to get to his Mother's heart.

So of-course I squeaked out a thank you through laughter as I scurried over to his side of the table and smooched the heck out of his face.

Of-course I did.

And he ate up that pasta.

Of-course he did.

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