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“Will you be a big boy and at least eat a few more carrots?”
I spoon some of the puree into his mouth and he eats a little before blowing bubbles. I thoroughly regret the day I taught him how to do that, because blowing bubbles and spitting are his favorite things to do now.
He laughs as I shield my face from the veggie assault he’s launching against me. Grabbing a towel, I clean him before attempting to wipe away the blended vegetables splattered across my apron. So much for him not being a picky eater.
Vegetables don’t seem to be his favorite things so far, although he ate more of the carrots than the spinach. It must be the sweetness.
I leave him in his highchair as I wrap up the leftovers and place them in the fridge. After giving Jacob his bottle, I also give him a few toys to play with so I can wipe down the kitchen and sweep the floor.
I always clean as I go whenever I’m cooking, but I like to make sure everything is back in its proper place once I’m done. If I didn’t love cooking and cleaning so much there’s no way I would be able to continue being a nanny. Mixing ingredients together and watching others enjoy my creations makes me infinitely happy. Plus, I feel I would be doing a disservice to myself and Magdalene if I didn’t keep everything sparkling clean.
Magdalene expects things a certain way, but I think my standards are ten times higher than hers. There’s nothing worse than cooking a meal and having to stop and search for something you need because you failed to return it to the right spot the last time you used it. Everything has a place and I like it that way. Just as I’m wiping down the stove, the front door opens.
In walks Magdalene, her eyes a little red and puffy, a sure sign she’s been crying. She kicks off her heels at the door and runs her fingers through her now slightly unkempt hair. Unfortunately, this is one of those occasions when Heath has sent her on her way after he’s finished with her.
He is such a jerk.
“Ma-ma-ma-ma,” says Jacob excitedly, banging his little fists on the tray in front of him.
She pulls her lips into some semblance of a smile before walking over to hug her son and kiss him on the top of his head.
“Hello honey, did you just finish eating?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I blended some carrots and spinach up for him. He actually ate quite a bit of it.”
She looks over at me and gives me that sad half smile.
“I also made a batch of cookies.”
Magdalene raises an eyebrow. She’s not a major fan of sweets being in the house, but the occasional cookie every won’t hurt anyone.
“Have a cookie,” I say. “I made them with all organic ingredients, and I used dark chocolate chips.”
She nods and leans against the kitchen counter as I continue to clean.
“I think I will have a cookie or two, but I should probably eat something first. Did you cook anything else?” she asks.
“Sure thing,” I say, dropping the dish towel on the counter. “Have a seat and I’ll fix a plate for you.”
Magdalene plops down at the table and drops her head into the palms of her hands. I fight to keep my expression neutral as I put the hot plate in front of her. Sitting down in the chair across from her, I anxiously wait for Magdalene to take her first bite. While my instinct is to ask what’s wrong, I decide against it. It doesn’t really matter anyway, nothing I say will cheer her up, but hopefully a plate of good food will make her feel a lot better.
I like watching people react to tasting my food, especially Magdalene, because her face always reveals her thoughts. In my opinion, it’s the highlight of the whole experience. I firmly believe the expression on their face as they take the first bite sets the tone for the rest of the meal. The mark of a good chef depends on the reaction of whoever is eating the food.
Magdalene takes a bite of salmon, closes her eyes and sighs. My lips spread into a wide grin. Even though her face says it all, I still ask the most important question.
“How is it?”
She devours another forkful and motions for me to give her a moment. “It’s delicious,” she says. “It always is, you know that. You have to teach me a few things one day.”
I want to laugh out loud. Magdalene has never stepped foot in the kitchen other than to give me orders and to look for the corkscrew, and I doubt she ever will. Domestic labor isn’t really her thing from what I gather. Although, maybe a few cooking lessons here and there may help take her attention off Heath and the constant heartache he brings.
