Kim Dannies: Lifestyle & Adventure writing

How to Cook A Kid

The important things I’ve needed to know I first learned in a kitchen. I’ve learned that recipes are guidelines for creativity, not rigid rules. I’ve learned to provision myself with quality ingredients and tools, and that a bit of knowledge empowers a cook exponentially. I know that foods have a natural affinity for each other and it is nature’s way to align strengths. I know that less is often more.

I have learned about love in the kitchen, too- this is where I vetted my men. The magic of a romance could easily blossom or fade during dinner prep as I carefully weighed and measured the sexual chemistry in the kitchen, a reliable harbinger of how things might go in the bedroom. As friendly acquaintances we’d connect through a desire to spend time and the shared passion for a good meal, which, in turn, might spread to the heart, and, if the cooking was delicious, perhaps even become a string of pleasant memories. I would surreptitiously watch my candidate - was he careful not to bruise the garlic? Did he treat the wine with proper reverence, as the living thing it was? What did his profile look like as a spoonful of sauce pooled upon his lips? These considerations rewarded me, and the man with the most genuine vigor, the purest of motives, the heartiest of appetites eventually won a permanent seat at my table; he’s been showing up for dinner now for twenty-two years. He is not my soul mate, for it is not enough to say that he inhabits only a part of me. He is my gentle silhouette, offering honest reflection and the freedom of friendly boarders. We have lived together in equal amounts of satisfaction and lust longer than our original families held us close. And everyday, when we sit down to share a meal, I am replenished with the knowledge that he knows me and celebrates me like no one else on the planet.

That humans love deeply, often irrevocably, is understood- and the rituals we choose to define our families is how that love is seasoned. Since college I have been meditating, and when our firstborn was an infant I was pleased to continue my practice, taking thirty precious minutes every afternoon to go deep: to rest my mind, to reconnect my body to my soul. While our home was a child-centered one, we were careful to avoid a child-dominated one. My mothering mantra was “there is life after birth” and that meant me, too, so I established structures to honor us all. For me, it was my daily retreat, which in turn, became a gift to my children. My baby gated within her room and free to explore, would rest or do whatever fed her until it was time for her rosebud lips to reconnect with my bounty. When her sisters came along the pattern continued, part of each afternoon devoted to a period of quiet time, each individual charged with finding her own peace.

Afterward we would gather in the kitchen for food, chosen at my discretion, but offered in a smorgasbord of choices from the earliest moments. The sisters had authority over their needs and desires, even if it meant that one child ate carrots for a solid week and only chicken the next- that was what her growing body called out for and I trusted Mother Nature to round things out by month’s end. Food was always a playground for us, never a battlefield; I taught them that their body is a wonderland, not an amusement park.

I had a few kitchen rules for myself that worked nicely, too. First and foremost, I resisted the urge to do anything for a child that they could do on their own. Next, I tried to say yes as often as possible, I let them touch everything, with one gentle finger. I showed them respect and made respectful choices. And I took the time to train, teaching them well, letting them lead the way. Finally, there was the when/then rule. As in “when the flour and the butter form little balls, then you can stir in the water; when the dishwasher is emptied then I can drive you to soccer practice.” Easy as piecrust.

Human beings begin connected by an umbilical cord and then by heart strings and finally by brain waves. The parenting process can be as slow and exhausting as an endless march in molasses. And just when we think we have no more reserves left, an amazing young person shows up bearing a bucket of hot water and a towel. Like ripening fruit almost ready fall from a tree, our daughters are now fueling for independence-- but their need for sustenance is more intense and complex than a mere meal can provide. The hunger is emotional and intellectual, economical and physical. They can carelessly toss my heart through a meat grinder as easily as they peck me tenderly on the cheek. Their mouths receive, but they also provide: ripe and spicy opinions, requests and questions all seasoned by the confidence of a connected soul. And sometimes they test the boundaries with bolder demands from bigger mouths- mouths that have burst past the protective fencing of braces and now graze comfortably among the kissing fields of their youth.

Sometimes I am asked “aren’t you sad they are growing up so fast?” And I can truly say “No.” It’s not that I am unsentimental, rather, proud and grateful- for it is work well done, though never complete. We savor our licks of optimism and get on with our lives as the sisters make their way through the kitchen with equal doses of competence and compassion, cooking up something yummy with their young men along the way.

And through it all I meditate, and reflect on the contents and contentment in my heart. My dogs are my meditation partners now, their devotion fueled by their evening meal that follows our sessions. My husband and I again dine à deux, a twenty-year kidblitz that has spiraled us full circle, back to our courtship days in the kitchen.

When the daughters are about we manage to bite the tongues in our mouths, and reflect on wisdom gained: children cry wolf for simple reasons- out of fear, to test our limits, to gain a sense of reassurance; a misbehaving child is a discouraged child. Structure and ritual matter to them, we all hunger for it. Quality and consistency always count. Like a good meal, loving takes planning, patience and practiced skills. The result is a child who will always know how to handle herself, for she has learned the importance of feeding her mouth, her mind, and her soul.