Love on a Plate

How we define love is as varied as we are.  I could write paragraphs here and many have written books on love and how it is expressed from one person to another.  But I don't think there is any way more tangible to show familial love than to feed them.  Of course, as mothers, it's what we are charged to do with our very anatomy when our children are born.  It is our called duty to feed.
Some of us love to cook, and some not so much.  I would much rather cook the feast than dinner every night.  That doesn't always turn out well for PH, but he never, ever complains about what I put in front of him, even when it's a "you're on your own tonight" night.  Sadly for him, our friends think he eats like the feast every night.

The times we've gathered around the table after hours and days spent preparing a feast are the times I've gotten to know my cousins, my aunts and uncles, taken grandmother's skills for granted only to come to a new understanding when helping with the pots and pans afterward.  We've listened to siblings and their children tell their news when visiting parents,  we've listened to a new generation of cousins laugh and tell jokes and wiped up spilled milk from their end of  the table. 

 I've learned from those who came before me that you cook from scratch.  Peel the onions, peel the potatoes, peel the carrots and celery, slice, dice, chop, saute.

Many is the meal I've spent three days preparing only to sit back after 20 minutes at the table to see it all done but I also know that when I seasoned to taste I stirred in the love.