I cringed every time I would start pulling ingredients out of the pantry or fridge and subsequently, my kids would rush in questioning what I was cooking or baking. While I didn’t mind that specific question, it was the follow-up one that ensued dread. What went from a pleasant personal pastime in the kitchen, quickly morphed to my kids bickering over who measured, stirred and chopped, all the while creating a massive mess on the stove, countertops, sink and floors. If my husband was in earshot, he would give me the look. That look that made me melt with guilt, clearly insinuating for me to lighten up and build memories with my kids instead of fretting over excess flour outside the bowl and splattered butter next to the pan. As all sets of eyes stared directly at me, my response to “Can we help?” was a begrudgingly slow nod followed by “Sure,” raising the end of the word to more of a question, rather than an assured and enthusiastic agreeance.

I wish I could say that over the years I eased up, but nope. Well not to the speed that worked in my family’s favor anyway. I was a work in progress moving at a snail’s pace, especially as I was attempting to refine my culinary repertoire, rather than build that of my kids. The number of cooking classes we’d enrolled our daughter in, per her request, did not translate to her interest, or lack thereof, in cooking at home. Soon I recognized the barrier was the stress that swept through our kitchen like an intrusive smell, pushing everyone in the opposite direction. It signaled the need for a pronounced pivot, so I strived to be less of a stickler. I’ve had to relinquish my personal wants of efficiency, cleanliness and using cooking as my personal moving meditation, to empowering my kids to first-hand understand the benefits of home-cooked food, no matter the abysmal state of the kitchen by the time a baked good was pulled out of the oven.

There is worth in my one-on-one time with a risotto pot, stirring creamy goodness with a glass of wine in hand, and listening to my favorite French jazz music. However, given cooking peaks my kids’ curiosity, there can and should be a balance. After all, I can only be as good to others as I am to myself, so arguably, humoring an activity that feeds my soul is beneficial for all in my home. At the same time, proficiency in the kitchen is invaluable for a variety of reasons, all of which they’ll forever be able reap: teaching independence, the knowledge of foods ability to nourish one’s body, the beauty of eating seasonally, the art of indulgence, significance in recreating nostalgic or family recipes, sustainability and not being wasteful, and at the top of the list, connecting with others through a shared bite.

All messes can quickly and easily be wiped down and years of this have taught me the meaning behind the dirty counters and smudged cabinet doors. Their significance exemplifies memories made, skills acquired and having an overall deeper regard for food and its flavor. Introducing them to approachable recipes and appreciating each ingredient on its own, naturally progressed to utilizing the basics while challenging their taste buds. Over time, they’ve learned to embrace the value in working with your hands, creating something from scratch and infusing creativity in each and every concoction.

Recently, as summer was nearing its end and I entertained fall hitting our palates, I thought I would debut the first autumn dessert with a nostalgic apple pie. The mere mention of this prompted my kids (and by kids, I mean my daughter is on the cusp of owning the title of “adult” and my son is in high school), to ask when we should make it. The assumption was the task at hand was worthy of being a family affair, and it most definitely was. So, we all took to the kitchen to peel, mix and roll. Not only was it enjoyable, but my son and daughter owned their own roles, working with ease and taking pride in their efforts. My daughter seemingly enjoyed the process and my son took the initiative of putting his own spin on this American classic. From start to finish, we cohesively worked together, including in clean up…another lesson learned was I needn’t be the only one wiping, washing and drying. That too is a family affair and we all reaped the benefits from the prep, process, and finally, savoring the fruits of our labor.