Jenny Can't Cook

While I try to document the majority of life's pleasantries on this blog..there are times when I feel a blog confession would be a soul cleanse of sorts...or at least an open forum for whining.

I can't cook.

Ben usually cries at the dinner table. Then eats toast.
Jon pounds the table between bites while grimacing/smiling.
Jacob double fists whatever is on his plate directly into his mouth, forgoing all tasting.

Jenny? She usually drinks a smoothie around 9pm while she stares at this strange room in the house. One that never really clicked. While she wonders what went wrong again tonight?

The room is like a giant jig saw puzzle to tackle each night. Each ingredient a piece of the larger puzzle. Even with the end picture I am never quite sure how THOSE are suppose to turn into THAT.

When Jon and I were a newlywed duel earning couple the first one home made the grilled cheese, picked up the pizza or soaked the french toast. We weren't too concerned with what was on the table as long as it was fast and up to par with our equal skill level in the kitchen.

When Ben was diagnosed with his allergies things got more complicated but he didn't seem to mind eating a separate simple meal while Jonny and I kept to our old standbye's...calling a box of kraft dinner with ground beef a complete meal.

Unfortunately/fortunately in learning more about Ben's allergies and how to help him get healthy I learned a lot about nutrition. And then I learned more and more and more. Until I knew too much. And knew way better then to serve processed white enriched pasta with yellow chemicals and factory farmed hormone laden meat to my family. I couldn't do it. Wouldn't do it....so about 2 years ago ketchup stopped being a vegetable serving in our house I learned how to make salad dressing and I loaded up my cupboards with organic, non GMO, gluten free, and discovered local food. I had better pieces to a bigger puzzle but I continue to struggle (and by struggle I mean am failing miserably) to put those pieces together.

I have started to think about meals at our house as 1- the most stressful occurrence of the day. 2- Times I try to shove as much nutrients down my children's throats so they will not be hungry again for maybe a couple more hours and are reletivly void of pleasure and 3- something I continue to do at least 3 times a day while wishing I could hook my family up to IV's at night and be done with it.

In the last month I have made such culinary mistakes as burnt most things that go into our oven because I chronically forget to set the timer. I have burnt meat on the outside while it remained pink on the inside (the fate of tonights turkey burgers) had cold sides and warm entree because I can't seem to get everything to finish at the same time. I forget to thaw what I planned, It tastes like chalk (salt anyone?) it is mushy...I am afraid of undercooked meat and tend to overcook everything as a result. Have sworn of cooking forever 5 out of 7 days a week.

In my humble defense in addition to my lack of inclination and talent I am cooking around texture issues, picky eaters and cannot cook with any dairy, nuts, eggs, and very limited gluten (yes...the IV thing is seeming like a less extreme option now isn't it!)

I have broken dishes in frustration, kept Dominoes in business (after the boys and their cereal for dinner are in bed...) in business and have not had anyone over for dinner since....um I don't even know when, we just don't have dinner guests because unfortunately we would have to subject people we love to...dinner.

No more.

I am going to learn to cook. Really I am. I don't know where to even start really. Jon and I were trying to come up with SOMETHING edible that I make that would be requested again. NOTHING...we were both near hysterical laughter as we realized there was none. My poor, poor Jon! He grew up in the home of Martha Stewart's protege. My mother in law can simply walk into a kitchen and her stand mixer will gleam. I imagine the ingredients dancing out of her cupboards like the toys on the floor of the Mary Poppins playroom. They all go together just right...and everyone always takes seconds. Then he married me. But he loves me for trying...I will keep giving him that.

I fight back tears as I peruse blogs like this

One day...one day.

I am not sure what is missing...a large part of me has stopped trying, but I am going to give it another go. A really good, go.