I hoped to not share that experience with my own children. Last week, however, I ate those words.
My older daughter is a huge fan of a certain local blogger who not only has two cookbooks in print, but she also has a Saturday morning cooking show for which the world stands still. When The Pioneer Woman appears on our TV set, we have to either sit in silence as my first-born takes exquisite notes about everything she does. OR we have to leave the room. Those are our only options. Once I accidently started the dishwasher before the closing credits rolled and I had to make strawberry oatmeal bars as my penance.
The funny thing about my PW-obsessed kid that is that she’s a monochromatic eater: She only eats things that are white or off-white in color, specifically, she eats cottage cheese, pasta, cheese, chicken. The end. Because of this, I’ve welcomed Ree into our home every Saturday in the hopes that my daughter will decide to expand her culinary culture. So far, we got nothing.
Last week, in our hometown, Ree met us all at the local Hellmart to sign her newest cookbook, which my kid already owned. We arrived an hour before she was scheduled to appear. We got at the back of the line which was looped through the store and nowhere close to her signing table. We stood in line for five minutes and my infatuated, but impatient daughter said the dreaded words, “I’m bored.” I hissed that she wasn’t allowed to say those words for the rest of the night. Within five minutes, she whined, “I’m … tired.”
Because I’m trying to make the final cut for Mother of the Year, I let her roam the store and take drink orders for other fans in line (and deliver), and play with the dreaded claw game with her “tip” money (she won!). Eventually, we rounded the corner and had Pioneer Woman in our sites.
I thought for certain that meeting her idol (she cooks, she has horses, she has gorgeous hair – what more could a tween want?!?) would inspired my budding chef to branch out and try something new. As we left the table, I put my arm around my precious little thing and said, “Are you happy?”
“I am, Momma,” she replied with a shy little grin and crimson cheeks.
“Do you think you’ll want to try something from Pioneer Woman’s new cookbook? YOUR new cookbook?” I asked with more than just a hint of hope.
“Yes. I already know what I want to make first. And also second.”
Ahhh – sweet success. I knew that the three-hour wait, stalking and meeting a real-life celebrity would pay off. I knew that my tired feet and my swollen knees would count for something in broadening my first-born’s spectrum.
“First, Momma,” she started, “I want to cook the glazed donuts, and then I want to make the fried cheese.”
Oh well… at least I got to hand deliver a Minivan Momma bookmark to The Pioneer Woman! I am not above shameless, self-promotion!
