Now and then I feel just a little bit wistful about my culinary days and allow myself to wonder what sort of adventures I might have had in that career. Although I wouldn't trade these precious years with my children for any of that excitement and prestige, I have wondered if all of that schooling and experience was wasted. Now I know it wasn't. Sis is sharing in my passion for cooking and begs me to teach her everything I know. How fun it is to take her through our garden, teaching her to identify and select cooking herbs, how to make basil chiffonade, to garnish her desserts... She is rapidly gaining independence in the kitchen and surprising me with her skill. Most mornings we'll wake up to a nice breakfast of oatmeal (carefully topped with brown sugar, milk and a few chocolate chips which she calls her secret ingredient). She often finds pictures of recipes she'd like to try (see the strawberry ladybugs), and we attempt them together. I feel as though this shared passion is a little gift to me, easing my disappointment over anything I might have given up for the sake of "mommyhood."
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