By Jessica Whitehouse
When I was a young child, my father’s job was up for relocation, and he had his choice between Minnesota or Florida. This was nearly a no-brainer for a family ready to escape into a tropical paradise where we often spent family vacations on the beach or in the theme parks. So, we packed our moving truck and off we went to sunny Florida! Except I hated the decision. I sulked. I cried. I was furious. I was sad. I spent a lot of time outdoors and had etched words underneath my wooden deck so the next set of kids who would ultimately invade my perfect home could read to learn more about the little girl who loved her first home, the great outdoors, the horses that lived in the house behind theirs, and her friends next door. I’m not even sure what I wrote (probably something snarky like ‘Ghosts live here’ just to cause a little panic and sleepless nights), but I wanted to leave my mark. My brother on the other hand with his adventurous spirit, couldn’t wait to escape our small town and live somewhere new and exciting. No part of me wanted to leave the comfort of my world in which I had grown up, all 10 years of my life thus far.
But moving to Florida meant more changes I wasn’t prepared for. My mother, who had been a stay-at-home mom my entire life, decided to go back to work. Universal Studios had just opened, and she was going to start in the ticket sales department. Her schedule changed weekly and that meant my brother, father, and myself, would have to figure out how to make dinner on our own. She would leave food with notes attached as to what was on the menu for the night, and we were left to our own devices to make it happen.
My mother was an amazing cook and feeding people or throwing amazing dinner parties serving her home-made deliciousness, was something she relished doing and exceled at. One evening I came home from school and my mom had left a note to put the meat dish in the oven, make the mashed potatoes, and heat up the vegetable side dish. This was new territory for all of us as she was always the star chef in the house and taking over the reins would definitely involve a learning curve.
Especially since her mashed potatoes were the bomb.
In fact, if Guy Fieri had a show in the 90s, he would have stopped at the ‘Mother Martin House’ just to feature my mom’s mashed potatoes in his next episode of Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives. I firmly believed that I only had friends in middle school and high school purely on the fact that they would come over for my mom’s cooking; but more specifically, her famous ‘Mother Martin Mashed Potatoes.’ In high school, my friends and now-husband, opted to come to our house for prom dinner, so they could eat her mashed potatoes and later dubbed ‘Prom Chicken’, rather than go out to a restaurant because her cooking was that good. It’s true, her mashed potatoes were the perfect amount of creaminess mixed with divine levels of salt, milk and butter.
The pressure was on.
I began peeling the potatoes and chopped them into bite size pieces and placed them in a bowl, as I had seen my mother do so many times before. My father was a smart man, an electrical engineer, who was detail-oriented and methodical, and for as long as he had been married to my mom, had never needed to make his own food as that was her wheelhouse. He stayed in his lane as the official taste-tester and subsequent, eater. He arrived home not long after I had started our mashed potato masterpiece and nodded in approval at my potato peeling and chopping skills.
My 12-year-old self was doing great.
I pulled out the electric mixer and began the process of mashing the potatoes. But they wouldn’t smash. Hmm. Weird. I struggled. Called my dad over. We decided together that we needed more milk. Maybe more butter? Always add more butter according to dad. Another stick went in. Did I add the salt? No, I hadn’t, but would that help with the consistency? Well, let’s give that a whirl. But how much? A cup of salt? Sure, dad said. In it went.
I gave it a little taste. Wow, lumpy. Salty. Not creamy. I mean, we knew our creation wouldn’t stack up to my mom’s legendary work, but surely, we would get an A for effort! We put our creation into the serving bowl and waited as my mom arrived home for our family dinner.
Judging from my mom’s immediate reaction, we knew we had messed up. It was as if Gordan Ramsey was in our kitchen looking at my dad and I with a look of disgust saying:
“Did you boil the potatoes?” she asked innocently.
What? We had to boil…the potatoes??
Indeed, we had missed the second step after the first step of peeling and chop.
Second step: Boil.
My mom was crying and howling with laughter even before she learned how much salt we had added as if to rub more metaphorical salt into our wounds! Lesson learned the hard way as my dad and I became the butt of every family dinner joke for decades thereafter.
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As parents, we must fill in and teach our children the life lessons not taught in school. Now that I’m older with kids around the same age as my mashed potato story, I often wonder what else I haven’t taught my children that would be necessary to know. Recently I attended a field trip with my daughter’s fifth-grade class. The sheer fact that teachers deal with the insanity a group of curious, energetic small children who can only be described as a pack of feral squirrels, ANDthey inject knowledge into their brains all day long, is 100% mind blowing. I honestly do not know how they do it, but I am so thankful that our teachers have the talent and skills teaching our children takes. I can barely keep up with my two daughters, never mind a classroom full of them.
I talked to other parents at this time, and we discussed how time keeps slipping by. It honestly just goes by so fast. And as I sit here and type and scroll through another year where I felt like we just blinked, and we are here again! End-of-year festivities, graduations, honors nights, family photos, caps, gowns, parties, college announcements – It just hits us parents in the gut, and the heart. Because even if our kiddo isn’t graduating yet, we know it’s coming full steam ahead.
Another year is gone. And we are heartbroken and sad. Darn it, I’m not crying, really…just have something in my eye…
I spoke to another mom recently who said she wanted to be the one to take her oldest child, who is a senior in high school getting ready to head off to college, to the grocery store and show him how to buy food so he can prepare a meal. A real meal. Not DoorDash. Not a frozen pizza. Not a microwave meal. But a nice, healthy meal (I mean, my 12-year-old self certainly needed some work in this department!) because this is a skill he will need. And she is worried he won’t know how to do it. It keeps her up at night.
As a parent, I think it’s a common feeling. We haven’t done enough. And now…NOW. It’s almost too late. So, we yell out into the world: “We haven’t taught them all the things they need to know. They can’t go yet!” And the world yells back, “Buckle up, Buttercup!”
It’s true. They are going off into the real world and we aren’t ready. And even though we are so, so happy for them, we can secretly hate the decisions they make to leave. We can sulk. We can cry (oh, we will cry). We can get angry. We can get sad. We don’t want them to leave our comfort zone.
We will never be ready.
But here’s something we parents need to hear:
It will be ok. Our parents surely felt the same way. But here we are. We survived. The good, the bad. We still don’t know it all, but we are still learning. Everyday. We are embracing another season of change. Because it’s coming whether we like it or not.
And these kids?
These kids are going to be alright.
Listen, these kids survived a pandemic. Remote learning. Isolation from their friends. Masks. Social distancing. And so much more. They are going to be well equipped for the world of rolling with the punches. I have been around these kids. I have read scholarship applications of seniors who have done amazing things and who are off to do even more amazing things! They have goals. They have passions. They have dreams. They are astoundingly mature and they are going to do so many great things. Parents, I know you are proud, but I am also proud of your kids. And, I’m proud of you. They will leave a mark on the world.
These kids? They are going to be more than ok because you got them to where they are going.
Oh sure, this isn’t going to stop me from planning our support group for the next year when our kiddos go off to Middle School…
But to those of you with children who are leaving the nest, perhaps write down three things you want to tell your kids. Something they may not already know. It could be something simple like, don’t microwave Styrofoam (no, really, I know you are going to tell me you do this all the time, but you really shouldn’t…). Or it could be: Always try your hardest. Be yourself. Take the high road. Be a good person. Trust your gut.
And of course, don’t be afraid to call and ask mom for the mashed potato recipe.
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About Life with Jess & Friends
Jessica Whitehouse, aka Jess, is a lifestyle writer and creator of Life with Jess & Friends. Her mission is to bring lighthearted humor to life situations including family, parenting, relationships, career, and all things in between. For more information, email info@lifewithjessandfriends.com or follow her on Facebook and Instagram at @lifewithjessandfriends.
