The other day I was chatting with my mother-in-law, partially through my sister-in-law and partially through me. With her broken English and my even-more-broken Arabic we somehow manage to communicate. Anyway, earlier in the day all three of us ladies were talking about travel and my MIL was saying that she had never been outside of Morocco and it was something she had always wanted to do. Later that evening I asked my MIL where she would go if she was able. She said she'd go to America. Seems normal enough. She has two sons, one daughter-in-law (me) and two grandbabies there. But her reason for coming was what through me for a loop. She said she'd want to come to cook for me and Ali.
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Initially I just had to laugh at this, but later her comment got me thinking. Her cooking is what she does, it's her thing and she does it well, and, to her, coming to my home to my modest kitchen to cook for me, her son and grandchildren is how she can best show us she loves us. That's saying a lot about cooking for a woman who is quick with a laugh, still roughhouses with my maniac of a son, is a lover of people and conversation and is always quick with a funny story and a sly wink for me.
This leads me to a funny story. When Ali was here during December he remarked to his mother that she should rest instead of cooking dinner, her second home-cooked meal of the day. Now, most women I know (myself included) would take this comment as a relief and happily order pizza with nary a second though.
You know what my MIL's responce was?
"Are you crazy?"
I'm totally serious, and so was she.
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