cooking is theraputic.
yes, i admit it… it’s true. independent woman has a domestic side.
i have been a tomboy, loud and rowdy, for most of my life. i am still coming to terms with the fact that i, by some force of nature or hormones or what you will, have an inner need to do matronly things, like hold babies, and clean house.
cooking has been the easiest for me to face: after all, my mother wasn’t the only cook in our house. i have been baking danish kringles with my dad every christmas since i was two and precocious enough to say “can i help?” (i even have a picture to prove it, as soon as i find it, and scan it in).
last night i came home from work feeling pretty bad, so i laid down and took about a 30 minute nap. jon and i went to the store, and i started to cook dinner.
and i kept cooking.
i ended up making taco stuff, fruit salad, a cake, and a huge pot of jambalaya with just about everything in it. none of it was fancy cooking, but i was energized by it. it felt very ‘home’ to prepare a meal, and then sit down and enjoy it. i realized last night that it had been a very long time since i had cooked for somebody besides me, and really made something.
it felt very good to bustle about the kitchen.
now, if i can just let myself coo over babies, without feeling like such a girl.