precise

There are a handful of mothering benchmarks I strive to hit. Among them, these:

? bake perfect chocolate chip cookies, batch after delicious, crowd-pleasing batch
? make a turkey sandwich to be known for, as in, "Wow, Zane. Your Mom's turkey sandwiches are the bomb!"
?consistently craft tasty, flaky, golden pie crust

But one mountaintop I have already summited is perfectly sliced apples, just like my mom's. She slices apples all old school, no fancy apple cutter for her. Mom's hands, a paring knife, and suddenly - like a dance- precise pieces, core-free (and brown spot-free too). Hers always taste the best.

Thanks, Mom.

(Friends who know my mom, please tell her about this post and the favorable light in which it holds her. She's still giving me grief about one from months ago in which it may have been inferred that she fed our family Hamburger Helper. Let the record show that 1) she has culinary skill, and 2) that our memories of details from my teenage years diverge dramatically, finally 3) I'm grateful for all she has taught me. )