Not Even in the Running

I pass a tiny church on the way to my friend’s house. Being a preacher’s kid, I probably notice churches more easily than most, but the sign in front of this really little church just screamed at me.

It read: “Woman of the Year. Luncheon Wednesday afternoon.”

It got me thinking about what a gal would have to do to be named Woman of the Year. I mean, I won Mother of the Year once, but Woman of the Year? That’s a whole ‘nother Hillary!

But you’re probably distracted by my Mother of the Year win and are wondering what I did to win that prestigious prize.

Actually, the MOTY committee cited what I didn’t do as the reason I won.

I didn’t do their homework for them. And I didn’t clean their rooms for them.

I didn't stand over them with hand sanitizer and a bottle of Fiji water at the playground. Come to think of it, I was usually too busy cleaning house, cooking dinner, and doing laundry for us to do much hanging out at the playground.

When I discovered empty beer bottles stashed under my daughter’s bed, I didn’t tell her it was okay because everyone drinks when they’re teenagers.

When a daughter told me she hated me and wanted to go live with her father, I didn’t argue. She went, and three weeks later, she came back, ready to live in my home with my rules. A year later, the same thing happened with her sister.

When I found an emergency escape ladder hidden in my daughter’s room, I didn’t push her out the window.

Some might think that the mother of teenagers this unruly should never have even been nominated for “Mother of the Year.” But I’d like to point out that this isn’t the “Offspring of the Year” Award. My kids aren’t the ones being evaluated. “Mother of the Year” is about what a mom does – or in my case, doesn’t – do right.

The most important thing I didn’t do, however, the thing that most impressed the judges, is that I ultimately did not confuse my value as a person with my children’s behavior. Yes, I was tempted to blame myself when they misbehaved and was inclined to get mired down in the “mom guilt” so prevalent in our society. But I pulled myself out of that quagmire of parental regret, and that’s part of what makes me a great mom.

Here are my two secrets to being a great mom: First, love your kids, but don’t make your job as their mother your identity. Second, don’t sweat the small stuff, and don’t overlook the big stuff. Junk food and tap water are small stuff; sneaking out and underage drinking aren’t. In other words, picture a huge scale, one side being caring deeply and the other side not giving a shit. Try to find the balance. Even if you’re never nominated for “Mother of the Year,” you’ll know you’ve done a great job when your kid hands you a pink slip. You’ve done a good job when your child is self-sufficient and ready to take on the world. In the end, being a good mother is all about what you don’t do.

As for Woman of the Year, I didn’t get invited to that luncheon.

Sweet Revenge

I won a recipe contest this week. Melissa Hart, a writer from Oregon whom I’ve had the honor of studying under, held a recipe contest to coincide with the release of her new book, Gringa: A Contradictory Childhood. And I won!

It’s amazing, really, my recipe-contest win. Because if someone were to inspect the contents of the refrigerators at either of my homes, that person might reasonably conclude that I don’t cook and the people in my house don’t eat. Right now, my refrigerator is chilling two bottles of Pellegrino, a pound of butter, a jar of powdered Acai berry, two cartons of yogurt, sixteen blueberries, one egg, and a bag of apples purchased last Saturday in Ellijay, Georgia.

My mother worried before I got married that I didn’t know how to cook. And she was correct. I didn’t. But I said to her, “Mom, I can read and follow a recipe. It can’t be that hard. All you need is good recipes.”

So I spent the next fourteen years of my life collecting recipes and perfecting my cooking skills, even going so far as to attend cooking school.

Ursula’s Cooking School is owned and operated solely by an older German woman named Ursula, who years ago achieved a bit of celebrity in Atlanta, having catered for Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter when he was Governor of Georgia. She’s taught from her home on Cheshire Bridge Road for nearly forty years, dispensing a dash of advice and a cup or two of humor along with every recipe she demonstrates in her classes. For example, stuffing a raw turkey, according to Ursula, is a recipe for food poisoning. But here’s how she puts it: “If you ever want to see your friends again, cook the stuffing and the turkey separately.”

Her feelings on condensed soups? A little cream added to canned soups, she says, hides the canned flavor. No one will ever know. But she adds, “Hide the cans deep in the garbage, and don’t tell your mother-in-law.”

Of all the things I learned from Ursula, though, probably the best advice is this: “You are the boss in your own kitchen.”

I found out my husband was cheating on me while we were building our house in McDonough. Armed with Ursula’s advice and a massive dose of being pissed off, I equipped that house with some hideously expensive appliances, including a steam oven, five refrigerators, three icemakers, and a built-in Miele coffee and cappuccino machine, despite the fact I don’t drink coffee and my ex-husband has probably never learned how to brew a pot of coffee.

Given that the ex-husband is gone, one kid is away at college, and the other two are teenagers with extremely active social lives, I’m now the culinarily well-educated boss of a fancy schmancy kitchen that gets about as much action as I imagine Hillary Clinton does.

And that’s why I was surprised to win the recipe contest. But I’ll let my readers be the judge. Here’s my winning recipe, which I, as the boss of my own kitchen, made up all by very own self:

CHEATING HUSBAND BROWNIES

1 box of brownie mix (buy the cheapest you can find)

the egg, oil, and water called for by the mix

1 box of Ex-Lax, chopped fine

1 bottle of your choice flavored liqueur (I like Kahlua for a South-of-the-Border flair, but Chambord is good, Grand Marnier rocks, and Crème de Menthe pleases the palates of the York Peppermint Patty fans)

Directions:

Combine the brownie mix, oil, egg, and water according to package instructions. Stir in the Ex-Lax and ¼ cup liqueur. Drink the rest of the bottle while the brownies bake, and then serve the entire batch to the cheating husband.