Last month, while in Romania my squad-mate Jillian and I spent the month cooking for 19 to 25 people three times a day, every day. We rarely put on make-up. I did not take a shower every day. When I washed my clothes, it was because flour was all over them. We woke up a couple of hours before everyone else to make sure their breakfasts and lunches (for those going into villages) were made. We were still in the kitchen many nights 16 hours later, prepping for the next day’s meals. We walked to the grocery store – one time we had to chase our potatoes down the street because the bag broke and they were rolling everywhere – every day, there and back, in rain and snow, to feed people. We learned how to make everything, from beginning to end, from scratch. We can make our own pancake mix, our own alfredo sauce, I know how to make vegetable soup, chili, potato soup, meatloaf, shepherd’s pie, home-made pizza, meatballs, chicken pot pie calzones with homemade cream of chicken soup filling that I prayed over as we stirred and tasted and doctored.
I learned that garlic and oregano can make almost anything taste better.
I learned that living on a tiny budget with many different appetites to satisfy is hard.
I learned that people walking into the kitchen to find out when dinner will be finished is irritating, especially when I have been up longer than you and will be far later than you and the desire to throw my spoon straight at your head feels way better than saying “25 minutes.”
I learned that some people don’t like onions, and other people are trying to stay away from cheese, and more people want vegetables while others wish we had more meat, all said while the $60 I have to spend on all three meals to feed every single person looms in the back of my head.
I learned that one “thank you” or “that was amazing” or “you guys are doing awesome” can make aching feet and a tired brain and frustrated heart delight in a long days work.
Even as I write the things I learned, I know that it might seem as though I spent the month hating what I was doing.
But I didn’t. I loved it.
I loved creating a menu at the end of every day.
I loved knowing that Rocky doesn’t like vegetables.
I loved knowing that the men were full.
I loved calling our huge family to breakfast, lunch and dinner.
I loved when Waito told me she loved when we made chili, or when Amie said she could eat five bowls of our baked potato soup, or when Mindling came to hug us our last morning in the kitchen and to say "thank you!"
I loved when we could make chocolate chip pancakes because we saved money the day before.
I loved all of it.
But it was hard.
And frustrating, sometimes.
About halfway through our time in Romania our contact invited us all to enjoy dinner at the church and to offer him feedback about areas of growth that could happen in his church. I sat and listened to what my team and squad-mates had to say, and all of a sudden I felt really left out of their ministries. I had no idea what any of them had been doing other than what I had learned in conversations from them when they came home to eat. I did not feel like I had anything valuable to offer to the conversation because all I had been doing all day, every day was cooking. Because of my jobs over a five year span prior to leaving for the race, I felt like I had a fairly good grasp on what it feels like to be a mom: I knew all of the good parks. Tantrums? No problem. Escaping to the bathroom to pee and knowing it is your only time alone all day? Yep. Juggling two children and a diaper bag with groceries? Check. What I didn’t know was what it feels like to feel unimportant and left out until last month, and it isn’t fun.
But then I remembered what I know.
Feeding my huge family for that month was my job.
And it was important.
It helped them get through their day filled with activity outside of our home.
It was not less than what my friends were doing when they left for the day.
And honestly, I loved it, even when I wanted to throw my spoon at people.
So, today, especially if you are a mom who feels like all you do all day is cook and clean and change diapers, know that it is important…
…When you want to lock your children out of the house and throw away the key.
… When nobody likes what you've cooked.
…When you feel like you aren’t doing anything of value.
…When you are up earlier than everyone…
… And awake far later than everyone…
It is important.
Our big family, minus a few. (Picture taken by Emily Waito)
