by ST, 1987
"It never fails!" she says as she gives me a no-fail fudge recipe. And, sure enough (it never fails), it fails! As if to prove that we of limited skill in the culinary arts are, after all, only cracked pots in the kitchen. Are we to blame when every recipe for every item for that special dinner reads "serve immediately"? No wonder part of the dinner is somewhat unflavorful, part is rather too flavorful (charred), and the rest is forgotten in the fridge. Can't some recipes say "set aside 20 min to an hour while you fix the next part of the meal"? Must they all be "served immediately"?
Somewhere in the land of fantasy (perhaps riding off into the sunset, or at the end of some rainbow) lives that superwoman supermom. She hops out of bed promptly at 5am (if not earlier), bids herself a cheery "Good Morning" in the mirror, then engrosses herself in meditation of some profundity for an hour. She gently wakes her husband and five children with a kiss and an "I love you."
Humming like a bird light-heartedly she fixes breakfast: bacon, eggs, pancakes and fresh-squeezed orange juice--all the while sharing a moment of undivided attention for 3 children and their little surprises: "Oh, mom, I need a show and tell!", "Mom, I'm supposed to bring cookies today . . . I forgot to tell you", and "Mom, I've got to have my blue sweater for school colors day today! It's at the dry cleaners." Alternatively, someone needs a science or history panorama project that hasn't been started. Like a military strategist (of the gentlest sort), she resolves every crisis.
When once her family is all sent on their way to school and work, except the 2 preschoolers, she efficiently tidies the house and tends a neighbor's children while preparing a scout presentation. She takes lunch to a shut-in, and visits 45 min with the lonely little old lady, or it may be the sick, the needy, or the overwhelmed.
She plays with her preschoolers in the park, does work for the PTA and the CIA (Committment In America, that is), picks up a bargain at the Mall, and her kids from school.
After school she spends 10 minutes with each child to ask about his/her day, prepares a fabulous dinner, greets her husband at the door with a kiss and allows him some winding down time while she helps with homework. This simultaneous with running 3 loads of laundry. And just then the dinner is ready. When the repast of scintillating conversation is done, she oversees clean-up in the kitchen and around the house. Although it would be quicker to do it all herself, she knows that she is preparing them to succeed on their own someday, which she patiently reminds them for the 3486th time (not that she's counting).
Pressing her husband's shirt and slacks for tomorrow, she is memorizing Proverbs 31 with the most sincerity possible. She reads stories, bathes & prays with the kids, and puts them all to bed (with a wink at her amorous husband).
But then he needs to unload about his stressful day . . . ah, that is, share his day's experiences--to which her unfailing insight and encouragement is given so compassionately and cleverly that he believes he has solved every issue. They undress for bed, pray, kiss, and our superhuman supermom swoons into his arms . . . in a coma.
My Stories 