Katie loves rocking in her chair, reading politically charged manifestos, remembering the good ol' days.
Winslow is learning how to wrangle crocodiles.
She practices on the cat. And she loves it. The cat? Well, poor Rufus.
As you see, here at the Kiefer Cottage, we think girls deserve more than princess mani/pedis. They need to learn how to get down and dirty. Stand for what you believe in (just hope it isn't tyranny)! Show that crocodile who's boss (who cares crocodiles aren't indigenous to this part of the world?)! Skin that snake! Sass that pathetic conformist!
Even if you have to wear a crown while doing so.
But that brings me to my point of the day. Bringing the country to Roeland Park doesn't entail welcoming rigid gender expectations (although I am *really* excited about the new apron on its way because I'll look the part, which is very important of course). On a farm, the men and women all work hard.
Since we don't have cows to milk, Ryan and I split the duties we do have. Ryan does not fuss about his domestic work. Partly because he knows how hard it is to care for three small children all day by myself (and sometimes without any transportation if he has the car) and partly because he is such a damn good student.
Witness last night.
Our options for dinner last night?
Or should I say option. Singular. Black-eyed peas that were tasty, but not enough for a supper. The kids had already eaten leftovers. And there are only so many nights I can settle for Oreos for dinner for myself because I'm too worn out to cook.
|While we waited for the meatballs.|
Long story short, Ryan whipped up from-scratch meatballs, a quick sauce (also from scratch--no jarred sauce here!), and pasketti noodles.
And then he cleaned it all up.
On a visit from my in-laws, my lovely mother-in-law Nancy said that she'd never been treated to cooking by her children until Ryan cooked black-eyed peas this past New Year's. Of course, I take all the credit. But since we're talking about sharing the duties, I might as well share the glory. I hope you, readers, are lucky to be blessed by a generous husband, wife, partner, friend, child who doesn't cook horribly. If you're not, send 'em to me. I'll whip 'em into shape.
This post is part of our Country Paradise series!