Years from now when my children are grown, I want them to reminisce about my cooking. I want them to remember that I am the microwave queen and made up my own “recipe” for microwaving Ramen noodles. I also want them to remember fondly how browning meat meant dumping in half a container of dehydrated onion.

It will be sad when they reminisce about how I rarely baked for them. They will laugh and say I hated baking because I hated the mess and I don’t crave sweets. I also really hate putting my head in the oven. When I was a kid I used to complain to my mom that it felt like I was getting an instant suntan, only not as fun.

I hope my kids remember how I would reheat pizza for them on Sunday mornings. And I hope they remember how I rock the taco soup. Who knew heating canned food could taste so awesome!

They will remember with fondness how their father did all the baking. And hated sharing! They will remember how we bought a Ninjabread cookie kit around Christmas and never did anything with it. They will remember how their dad makes the best brined turkey. Gavin will definitely remember his love for his dad’s homemade hamburgers. “Dad, I want a burger … with a pickle on it!”

In those memory induced conversations I hope they remember how I boiled all the eggs. If they remember it would be fun to mention how I cremated boiled eggs one day. They will remember that I make the best scrambled eggs for dinner whenever their dad is out of town. They will probably also remember how I try to buy juice to make those breakfasts for dinner special, only I buy some weird kind that is so sweet it’s gross. Or I don’t read the label and get the pulpy orange juice by accident. Nothing like chewing your juice.

Above all, I hope they remember the dehydrated onion obsession. Heath even started dumping in generous amounts when he browns meat. It tastes good and it makes him smile as he thinks of me.

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