Hope she likes soup

Pretty sure we can scratch chef off Michael’s list of potential employment opportunities.

Rebecca, Michael and I started our first home ec lesson promptly at 10 yesterday morning. (Amy had a job as a mother’s helper, so she missed the, shall we say, experience.) I started out by asking, “What makes a meal?” Michael’s answer: “Hot Pockets and Coke.”

That should have told me how the day was going to pan out.

After what I thought was an excellent introduction to our meal-planning activity, Michael said, “Mom, I’m going to have a wife. I don’t have to learn to cook.”*

Please note this is the first time he’s said he’s going to get married. Up to this point he said a wife would take too much money from his car fund…

Rebecca chimed in, “What if your wife gets sick? How will you take care of her?”

“Ever heard of Campbell’s soup?”

She countered, “What if you have company over?”

“I’m a man! I’ll grill!”

She shook her head and said, “I’m never coming to your house for dinner.”

In an attempt to get back on track, I passed out several cookbooks and said, “Let’s look through here and see if anything catches your attention. You need to come up with a main dish, side dish and dessert.”  We talked about food groups and having a balanced offering for our meals. I mentioned how important it is to think about the colors on the plate, because if you’re staring at a plate of beige food you probably missed the fruits and veggies.

Michael instantly picked, “Hamburgers, sweet potato casserole, Coke.”

After some re-direction, Michael came back with chicken salad on croissants, carrot slaw, chips and fruit pizza.

We made our grocery list, hit the store, gathered the ingredients and came back home to begin preparing dinner. First, he had to bake the chicken. No problem – turn on the oven, put the chicken in the dish, put the chicken in the oven. Then we moved to the carrot slaw. He began grating the carrots. And he kept grating the carrots. And it took a lot longer than he thought it would.

He got the carrots grated, then had to dice an onion, apple, and two stalks of celery. Took forever.

He mixed it all up, threw in a dollop of mayo, put it in the fridge and was done. Only, not so much because the chicken salad had to be prepared as well as the fruit pizza.

Mixing the chicken salad

I’ll spare you the details, but suffice it to say we spent all afternoon together in the kitchen.

When he finally presented his meal to the family and our guest, everyone agreed it was yummy and that he’d done a good job. Afterwards, I gave him a hug and said, “Just think, Michael, the next time you make chicken salad, you’ll remember this day!”

He quickly corrected me. “Mom, you mean the next time I eat chicken salad I’ll think of this day. Because I won't ever make this again.”

Wonder what he’ll never make again after he cooks it next week?

His smiling fruit pizza

*He really was joking. I think.