I Gave Birth to Julia Child

Okay, maybe not…yet, but give a mom credit for trying. You see, I have a simple philosophy in my sometimes not-so-simple life—kids should know how to feed themselves. And if they actually learn a few culinary skills in the process, boo-yeah—dinner is served, or as Julia would say, bon appétit!

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not talking Boeuf Bourguignon, Coq au Vin, or breaking any child-labor laws here. Sure, Julia was the American queen of French cuisine and I promise I’m not one of those over scheduling alpha-moms trying to churn out a clan of overachieving culinary minions. I’m just happy (especially during the summer months when they’re out of school), if my offspring can flip a piece of French toast or even a grilled cheese sandwich by themselves—some of the first dishes I teach my kiddos. We start with the basics and progress from there. If junior can make scrambled eggs—good. If he can make an omelet—even better.

Now, before I proceed any further, let me clarify a few things…starting with the fact that their dad and I actually do cook most of the meals at our house. I take care of dinner during the week, and my husband, Paco, does weekends (he’s somewhat of a “food whisperer.” Give the guy some seasonings and a slab of meat and he can make any ol’ food behave). But we both work during the week, so if these kids who know how to upload, download, inbox and outsmart any adult when it comes to all-things technical, can’t figure out how to cook something more than microwave popcorn, I’m afraid the zombie apocalypse is already upon us.

Think about it…

Secondly, I’m talking older kids here (although the little tykes are always eager to learn at our side). Currently, my house is populated with five kiddos ranging from 11 to 17…and they’re always hungry. We are in all phases of this momma’s self-feeding campaign at our house. Some are completely self-sufficient while others are a little more resistant.

One day, a certain child-who-shall-remain-unnamed tried to challenge me. “Mom, it’s your job to feed me!” said child with fists on hips.

“No, my dear” (okay, not sure I said the my dear part, but pretty sure it was past lunchtime, I was knee-deep in a huge project, previously mentioned “dear” had spent the day Facebooking and watching Netflix and we both were likely famished), “it’s my job to turn you into a responsible adult. There’s mac and cheese in the pantry or turkey slices in the fridge.”

All I have to say is hunger is a great motivator.

“My Dear” fixed the turkey sandwich and has yet to wither away in starvation.

This is all still a work in progress. Kids will forever be hungry and we have seven years till our two youngest graduate from high school. What are your thoughts when it comes to kids and food? I’d love to hear your ideas on this topic—especially kid-friendly recipes!

 

 

Tamra Torero is wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, and Author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her oldest son, Preston Norton. She makes (and teaches how to make) a pretty mean French toast, loves the movie, Julie and Julia, and will love you even more if you share this post.

Anatomy of a Stepparent

I have nine kids—for reals. And the first question I hear when anyone learns this not-so-little tidbit of information is, “Are they all yours?”

I try not to wince when I hear this. Of course they’re all mine! my defensive heart screams. Do you think I’ve borrowed one for the day? I do realize, however, that people are simply curious as to the origin of our family when two of my daughters don’t look a whole lot like me (and I suppose the true giveaway is when they hear the older one speak with an accent).

But there is so much more binding this mother-daughter duo than the way we speak or common genes.
 
Her eyes are like her dad’s, a deep, dark chocolate—irresistible on all accounts, especially to the strings of my heart.
 
My eyes are true blue. You get what you see—an imperfect me. And these blue eyes see a child who needs me, imperfections and all. I’m fiercely loyal to those I love. On occasion, I might fight with them (that inevitable battle of the wills), but I will always fight for them. All of my children are a part of me—not a place they’re born into. The only entrance is through the heart.

Her skin is smooth and unblemished—easily bronzed by the sun’s rays yet sensitive to the world’s sometimes harsh realities.

My skin is freckled and fair and not so smooth anymore. Over the years, it’s been exposed to many of those harsh realities of life as well. It’s thicker now—the survivor of stings and scrapes. I don’t want her to experience these stings and scrapes—not yet. So my boundaries might feel overbearing to her. She might think I’m over-protective and it may be a long time before she understands. But remember—I’m fiercely loyal to those I love…and I love her. At the end of the day, this is one thing I know she knows.

Her hair is thick and dark and she complains that there’s nothing she can do with it. She has the most amazing curls that can wind around your finger like the grip of a newborn baby. Oh, how I wish she’d been a part of my life at that time. But that’s not our reality. Our memories are happening here and now…like when she gripped onto my hand during the scary part of that movie, or when she was nervous getting her blood work drawn.
 
My hair is blond, and thin, and getting thinner every day. If I could change anything about the physical me, this would be it—and she knows this. I always complain that there’s nothing I can do with my hair, and she always tells me that she loves my hair. I just think that she really loves me.

So many of our physical characteristics are different—our eye color, our skin tone, our hair… But these aren’t the ties that bind a family. I suppose you could boil it all down to the wise words of The Beatles—All You Need is Love. Our life might be far from perfect, but our hearts are one.


Tamra Torero is wife to Paco, Momma to nine, Grandma of two, Blogger, Bakery Manager, and Author of Shayla Witherwood: A Half-Faerie Tale and co-author of a Christmas novel, The Lost Son, with her oldest son, Preston Norton. She is perfect at the imperfections of stepparenting. Feel free to share this post if you've enjoyed it.