A Response to Jewish-Mothers-Guilt

Today I was going to be a good mother. I was gonna follow all the rules in the grandmother book, where grandmothers instruct their daughters how to raise their child because they're 65 and look what a nice family they raised.

The first rule is : serve warm meals. Easy. For breakfast I made my kid scrambled eggs, accompanied by a warm-but-not-too-hot cup of hot cocoa.

Then came lunch. Here was the chance to make up for all the hastily packed lunches of ricecakes and american cheese(more plastic than cheese) that I sent with my son to Morah Miriam every day. Up and coming was the world's tastiest spaghetti and cheese.

My son was in on the game. He watched with anticipation as I boiled a pot of water,measuring a tablespoon of salt. He saw the spaghetti cascade gracefully from the box into the pot. He gleefully shouted "bubbles!bubbles!" at the spaghetti simmering on the stove.

With one eye on the clock so I could remove the pot in exactly 9 minutes for al dente pasta, I prepared a delightful mix of cheddar and mozarella cheese, with a dash of pepper and a spice which I promised my sister-in-law that I wouldn't tell anyone about. I endorsed myself with positive affirmations. " I am such a good mother. I am taking the time to invest my love in physical nourishment. "

Naftoli was getting impatient. His toddler-sized stomach hadn't been catered to for four hours already, but I dare not fill it with tomatoes or something that could ruin his appetite for the chef-style,and most imortantly warm serving of,spaghetti and cheese.

It was finally ready. I prided myself on getting the consistency right, on preparing the ultimate in kid-food to perfection. I placed a blue bowl of just the right amount of spaghetti in front of Naftoli, and waited for him to eat really quickly and ask for more. He just sat there.

Maybe he wants ketchup? That's alright. I could always squirt just enough to give it a shine but not so much that it would cover up the delicate taste. Maybe its too hot? My very motherhood was at stake here (see page 1 of said grandmother book), and for that I was willing to blow fiercely on the food to cool it down.

He looked up and said simply "Mommy,want ricecakes and (american!!!) Cheese..."