Last night I made granola. What could possibly be more zen than making your own granola? Except when your 11-year-old decides to pretend to be a dog and and other assorted animals in the kitchen while you’re trying to be zen and make granola.
Pretending to be a puppy is tolerable or even cute behavior in a toddler. It’s less endearing in an 11-year-old. Especially when you’re trying to make granola. I did my best imitation of a mature mom and patiently told her that I was not enjoying her game and suggested that she sit on the stool and keep my company in the kitchen or play her animal game in another room. For some reason, that didn’t work. Ok, it never works. At least not for me. Finally, Little One changed tactics and asked if she could help with the granola. Secretly, I wanted to say no, but I know that it’s good to have kids help with cooking so I said ok. Little One happens to be a pretty good cook. Unfortunately, Little One took it a step too far when my back was turned and I turned into Cursing Mommy. Cursing Mommy refers to a piece written by Ian Frazier in the current issue of The New Yorker that Little One read this morning (The Cursing Mommy Cooks Italian) and found hilarious. She probably didn’t find it quite as hilarious when her own mommy turned into Cursing Mommy.
Little One and I made our peace quickly, and the granola is pretty delicious. And now you know how zen isn’t always zen.
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