Some of my fondest childhood memories are of being in the kitchen while my yia yia cooked. I'd sit on the white-washed step stool she kept next to the furnace and "supervise," as she liked to say.
Lately, I've been doing a lot of the cooking at our house. Partly because I was off for a week over the holidays, and partly because I enjoy it more than Kelly does. Having the boys "supervise" me is a great bonus.
Like me, when my yia yia used to ask me to stir or maybe taste something, the boys actually enjoy helping as well.
Take the other night: we made a really simple dinner of (veggie) sausages and "Greek" spaghetti (browned butter and Romano/Parmesan cheese), with a nice tomato and cucumber salad - a meal I learned to cook at Yia yia's side.
Using a butter knife, Niko carefully sliced the sausages into medallions, while Gus stirred the spaghetti - raising a few strands out and hovering them over the water just like I do. He doesn't know it, but it's the way Yia yia did it too.
When they help with dinner, they're more invested in eating it. Sure, sometimes the cutting skills wouldn't win praises from the judges on Top Chef, but it still tastes great.
We're big believers in sitting down together as a family at dinner time - listening to the classical station on the radio - and just enjoying the meal. It's such fun to hear the boys tell Kelly exactly what role they each played in creating what's on the table. Even if it's just "I stirred it" or "I closed the oven door."
Sometimes, when the boys and I are whipping up dinner, I swear - out of the corner of my eye - I catch a glimpse of my yia yia sitting on a step stool, "supervising."
She's always smiling.
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