As I sit at mom’s house working on some NSF reporting data that is due soon, I can’t help but take a moment to be thankful. Mom is in the kitchen today and I smile as I watch her and my youngest nephew in the kitchen baking. He turned 10 yesterday and it’s funny because I think he’s fascinated by using machines, so the hand mixer is keeping him occupied. This moment is bittersweet for me. I’m thankful that my nephew is building memories with his grandmother in the kitchen. It reminds me of the stories that bae shares with me about him cooking in the kitchen with his mom and grandma. It reminds me of one of my sister-friends who talks about the recipes that she learned from her grandmother as well. But it reminds me that I never got that chance.
My mother’s mom died before my 5th birthday. I don’t remember much about her except for the stories that I hear from my mom and her siblings and some of my cousins. I wish I had grown up in my grandmother’s kitchen. I wish I could throw down from recipes that she taught me. I wish I had family secrets passed down from her that I could one day share with my children.
But I give thanks. I’m thankful because my mom is still here to share some kitchen knowledge. I’m thankful because I do have a couple of recipes in my back pocket from my father’s mom. I’m thankful that I have gained a few secrets that I will be able to share with my children.