I love to cook. Mostly because I also love to eat. However, I get a feeling of accomplishment in creating feasts for my family. The dinner table is sacred to me and I insist on considerate manners and communication during our gathering time at meals. I am rather stern about that. “Mabel, Mabel strong and able, remove your elbows off the table” is the touching saying my children are so fond of hearing from me. I am, of course, kidding. They obviously hate it.
Speaking of children. I have three. One, who is my recent bonus child, my stepson, Blake. I pretty much couldn’t adore this curly haired musical and artistic genius 22 year old young man more. He has a quiet gentleness, careful yet humorous manner, and I find him constantly interesting.
My 17 year old daughter, Emily, is creative, compassionate, smart as a whip, beautiful, and sarcastically hilarious (when not directed at her wonderful mother). She is finishing her Junior year of high school and I am already going through part separation anxiety, part extreme excitement for her upcoming Senior year and college adventures. I know she would absolutely agree when I say she thinks I am the coolest mom on the planet. (Fact not verified by daughter). She is going to prom soon, and I can’t wait to see her face when I chaperone in my awesome mom jeans and break out my 1980’s dance moves. I am certain it will just strengthen our bond as loving mother and daughter. (Shh! Don’t tell her, it will be a nice surprise for her and all her friends).
Andrew, my little Drewbug, is adorably 12. He loves video games, Star Wars, go carts, everything boyish (therefore completely foreign to me). He is, with all sincerity, the sweetest, gentlest person I have ever known. He is finishing his last year of elementary school and I have decided complete denial of the inevitable certainty of upcoming middle school is the way I am going to go with this knowledge. Definitely.