Today We Baked a Cake

Today we baked a cake.

Buttercup is a pro at breaking eggs. And I don’t mean throwing them on the floor or at the neighbor’s car.  She can snap those suckers open and slide those perfect yolks into the bowl with a pool of shell-free whites like nobody’s business.  She and Bubba participate in as much cooking as I can tolerate in the kitchen – they think it’s fun and I want them to learn to cook, so we’re talking about a serious win-win activity.  In fact, I was talking to Buttercup about this today as we mixed up the cake.  I told her all about how one day she will learn to cook so well that she can cook a whole dinner by herself for our family. 

“Oh.”  She didn’t look impressed. 

Now, I am quite serious about this.  One of my official goals for my kids’ education (homeschooled or not) is that they will be moderately competent in the kitchen.  By the time they are teens, I expect each of them to be in charge of dinner for the whole family at least one night a month.  Should be interesting, right? 

So I went on explaining the sorts of things she will be able to cook and then I told her that she wasn’t the only one.  Bubba – who was busy sticking his fingers in the batter - was going to have to learn to cook, too. 

“One day Bubba be able to make a whole dinner all by himself,” I told her.  “Won’t that be great when he can cook dinner for us?”

Buttercup considered this.  She tipped her head a bit to the side.  Her eyes crinkled up.  Something intense was going on behind those fluffy black lashes. 

“Mommy?  Can I marry Bubba?”

“Umm, no.” 

“Why not?”

What followed was a very strange conversation about why girls can’t marry their brothers which eventually ended with me telling her that she just can’t, that’s all.  I think I told her that when you get married you add somebody new to the family and that brothers are already in the family, so they don’t qualify . . . or something along those lines.  Not exactly a question I was prepared for.  But even in my awkward-question-stupor I could recognize my girl’s brilliance.  She heard that Bubba will be able to cook, and wanted to marry him.  What woman doesn’t want a husband who can throw down a decent dinner all by himself now and then?

Maybe, about twelve years from now, when my boys complain about having to learn to cook, I’ll use this argument.  Bubba will be fourteen by then. 

“You want girls to like you?” I’ll ask.  “Then get your hiney in the kitchen, son.” 

Maybe it will work.  Maybe not.   Either way, it’s time Bubba learned how to break open some eggs himself.  Buttercup will be glad to teach him.