Threshold

Lately, Pinterest has been my go-to source for finding recipes, in addition to a small obsession I may have with all things Star Wars. And Kello Kitty. And Hello Kitty Star Wars:

Hello Leia

Anyway. I prefer Pinterest over most food blogs because they're tedious and often difficult for my addled mind to manage. 

However, one of the blogs I follow looks like a food blog - it boasts delicious recipes, after all - but it's author, Dianne Swift Adams, is so irreverent and hilarious that I'm completely hooked. In addition to a handful of recipes, it is also the site where one can purchase gorgeous handmade blankets, better known as a Boga Babe.

I *almost* met Dianne once for coffee a few months ago. She was a terrific sport about being contacted with about an hour's notice on Facebook, along with a handful of other friends in the Los Angeles area, while I was getting my car serviced. I'm hopeful we will eventually meet.

Her children, Emerson and Annabel, frequently appear in her blog. Emerson is more often than not wearing only boxer briefs while assisting as sous chef. In her recipe for heirloom tomato sandwich, she addresses this very issue:

'Some people come home, kick off their shoes, and make themselves a drink. My son walks into the house, takes off his shoes, pushes his pants down to his ankles and elaborately kicks them off so they sail into a far corner. If he could he would be completely naked at home but my threshold of scrotum on every surface is lower these days than it used to be. Get your sad skin satchel off my couch and barstools, son. So our deal is at least wear your underwear."

See what I mean? The phrase 'threshold of scrotum' only endears her to me more. As a matter of fact, I'm going to find a way to work that expression into my conversations. Seeing photos of Emerson cooking, regardless of the fact that he's not wearing any pants, I can see Dianne is on to something; get your kids cooking, and cooking young. 

It makes me realize my own failings as a parent because when my kids go off to college, I'm fairly certain they will starve. Girldoll can cook, and easily mastered getting a frozen pizza into a preheated oven - but if given a choice, she prefers to be waited on. Boydoll can handily prepare himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, both BOTH kids will go all afternoon without eating rather than prepare food for themselves. 

I have no one to blame but myself. In an effort to keep a tidy kitchen, I avoided their requests to help prepare dinner. I regret it deeply now, because I believe there is a window of having fun helping in the kitchen...and that window closed for my kids about 5 years ago. 

I don't know. Maybe it's not too late?