I have some strong, fond memories of helping my family in the kitchen, as I’m sure you do, too. I grew up with my parents and four siblings. And one bathroom. On a farm in the country in a town with about 1,000 people. And we didn’t have a dishwasher for quite awhile.
Since we didn’t have restaurants at our beck and call – and money was a little tight – we cooked and baked a lot. In fact, I only ever remember going out to restaurants/buffets for Mother’s Day, Father’s Day (with my grandparents) and birthdays.
So, back to our kitchen.
My mother was a good delegator when it came to getting meals ready. My oldest brother was in charge of mashing the potatoes, while I set the table and got people drinks, for example. (I was also notorious for fixing popcorn for movie night.) We’d gather ‘round, say a prayer and pass serving bowls family style. We’d chat about our days at school and work, and then it was time to clean up, do homework and get ready for bed.
I don’t know how my mother did it. She worked full-time (still does), raised the five kids and still managed to put a healthy meal on the table each night. I don’t think she slept much.