Cooking, like we used to

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I come home from work around the same time as my mom, and I often offer to cook dinner because I know she’s tired. Last night’s cooking was special because we did it together, and she intentionally taught me a recipe. How to slice this and when to put this and how to choose good pork, stuff like that. 🌼 I paid attention last night. And revelled in the moment. Cooking is a language we both understood. Always did. We even talked about matters that would usually get her all defensive and guarded 🌼 No walls last night. 🌼 I remember being 8 or 9 and barging in the kitchen to ask my mom to let me cook whatever she was cooking. We always cooked together – my brother and mother and I. When the horrible years came; when the unemployment and moving and poverty came, we lost those moments. Can’t cook if you don’t have money. We didn’t have LPG anymore so we cooked in the rice cooker. Cooking for survival. We stopped having meals together. That stretched from teen years to college – which I regret. Even when we started affording things again, it seemed like we dropped what we used to do.🌼 I realized meals help gauge the health of our family. Are we okay? Are we doing good? The kitchen is the campground for our stories. This used to be our rhythm but life happened and destroyed it. We lost all our family traditions throughout the years. 🌼 Last night I realized we’re building again. Cooking meals again! Discovered cooking is our language – I previously thought it was bills or solving money problems. Thank You Lord, our Redeemer.🌼 I look forward to every night I get to cook with my mom. Here’s to rebuilding more traditions. Here’s to family. 🌼 p.s. i don’t have a picture for all this so here’s a vase of flowers. #journalgems

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