I don’t really fancy myself an overly domestic person, though I’ve become more so since I got married. This year, I bought a rolling pin AND planted flowers by our sidewalk, so I figure that’s about as good as it gets.
Every once in a while, I’m struck by something we do or use for convenience that means Ana and Yoseph will never understand the “hard” way of doing it.
The biggest example of this is having a cleaning lady. My best days are the days she comes. I’m just so happy to come home to clean toilets, the smell of cleaning products, and vacuumed rugs. I realized, though, that having someone to help meant the kids weren’t having to clean out sinks or empty trash bins as often as they otherwise would. So we have adjusted our expectations of them to basically pretend like we don’t have a cleaning lady (and it probably makes life a lot easier for her, too). So everyone wins.
When it comes to making dinner, I’m proud of how often Yoseph wants to help with cooking.
Until the day this happened.
Completely confused, he asks, “Um, what are you doing?”
“I’m cleaning carrots.”
“Cleaning them with what?”
“A vegetable peeler.”
“What are you cleaning them from? Why are they dirty?”
Facepalm. I have failed this boy with my convenient, already cleaned, already peeled, bagged baby carrots.
Turns out, he thought it was pretty cool to skin carrots. Just wait until I buy him a bag of potatoes…