BUCKING THE SYSTEM: GROWING FAMILY'S MEALS AND HOUSEHOLD NOT LIKE MOM'S

I was raised in a family where both parents worked full-time jobs. Because of this, my sister and I learned to fend for ourselves when it came to eating on school days. Those were the days when breakfast consisted most often of cold cereal, lunches were generally sandwiches and dinner was a free-for-all.

Everything was basically edible, there just wasn't a whole lot of satisfaction in eating.

But those feelings changed on weekends and during the summer. My mom was a country girl who enjoyed hearty country food, so she used her extra time off to pamper us a little. When she had the time and the inclination, we'd wake up to the heavenly smells of homemade biscuits and the good bacon that had the rind on it, and we'd walk into the kitchen to see her making some sugar-water syrup and stirring butter into the Farina, which every country girl knows tastes better than grits or Cream of Wheat.

Evenings, especially when the garden came in during the summer, were even better. We'd return home at dusk to see Mom scraping sweet corn off the cob in preparation for her unbeatable fried corn, and we'd often have to battle through the crowd of high school boys who weren't even kin to us but were standing next to the stove so they could eat the chicken right out of the pan.

And then there was the cornbread. You knew when Mom was in a hurry because she'd break out the box of Jiffy cornbread for dinner. Not so on weekends and in the summer. That's when Mom would take out the big, black skillet with the broken handle and make real cornbread. Oh yeah, and she'd squeeze lemons and make real lemonade.

Those were the days.

There was a trade-off for all of the good eating days Mom gave us. I guess she assumed that she was tired after a long day at work, and we were probably tired from our activities, too. She spoiled us with good food on the weekend, but in return we were required to get up EARLY on Saturday mornings and do some deep cleaning.

I pouted as I scrubbed toilets, cleaned closets and vacuumed floors, but those weren't the worst tasks. I think the job I appreciated least was dusting furniture in rooms we didn't even use. Why dust the dining room and living room if we weren't going to use them until a major holiday or unless out-of-town company were coming?

I think in Mom's way of thinking, "straightening up" the house and "cleaning the house" were different sides of the same coin. As long as we deep cleaned on a weekly basis and kept things straightened up the rest of the week, we were basically clean people and separate from the people who were plain-old, everyday nasty.

I, like my mother, strive to keep my household straightened up and worry about deep cleaning when I have the time. However, unlike Mom, I don't have children old enough to do chores yet, so both the straightening up and deep cleaning are done haphazardly, at best.

If you'll notice, I haven't mentioned my father in this column because he was basically king and as such, exempt from cleaning up. However, he did take the lion's share of the good food and enjoyed fussing at us about the state of his kingdom.

I guess that makes Patrick the crown prince. Like Dad, he's happy to tell me how dirty the house is, but he doesn't bother to help rectify the situation. When I do clean up, he assumes he has a maid and is no longer required to put trash in its proper place or wash the occasional dish.

In fact, it is only when I go on strike and quit doing anything that he chooses to help in the household chores, and then his grumblings are so loud I can hear them at the office.

Of course, his rewards are few right now because I'm not the greatest cook. The best I've managed to do so far is bring him a plate of Mom's Sunday dinner.

Maybe what we both need is a little time. That'll give me a chance to learn to cook and him a chance to learn to clean.

It'll also give the kids a chance to grow up enough to take over the chores.

~Tamara Zellars Buck is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.