Leaning against the other counter, she smiled as she watched her kids taught their dad how to make noodles properly.
Her husband had always been a workaholic, he loved good food but never really figured out what went into dinner. Tonight was different. Their kids had taken it upon themselves to teach him how to cook, and they weren’t going easy on him.
“Dad, not like that!” her son said, sounding frustrated. “You have to stir right away or they’ll clump.”
Her daughter chimed in, “And don’t overcook them or they’ll get all soggy and no one likes soggy noodles.” She crossed her arms, perfectly mimicking her mom.
He played along, swallowed hard while wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. “I think I owe you all a lot of gifts. Cooking is so much work.”
She stayed quiet, just watching and savoring the moment. She knew moments like this didn’t come everyday. One day the kids would be too busy, caught up in their own lives. But tonight, there were all here, crowded around a hot pot of noodles, teaching, teasing, and making memories that’ll last a lifetime.
At last, her husband lifted up the noodles with triumph, draining them without disaster. He looked at the kids with mock seriousness. “Well? Did I pass?”
“We’ll have to try the noodles first, Dad. But they don’t look bad.” Her daughter replied.
She watched them set the noodles on the table and sat down to eat. “Guys, my kitchen is a mess. Who’s going to clean this up?”
“Dad will. He’s the one who cooked Mom, we just coached him.” Her son answered quickly.
They all burst into laughter. She pulled out a chair and joined them at the table, thinking to herself how much she hoped nights like this could become a monthly tradition, a simple way to hold the family closer together.
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