Stir

I get mad too much. Usually at my family. I don't want to be mad and I don't want my kids to remember me as a mean mom who was always mad. In my head I'm grateful and cheery; I bounce when I walk and flash a toothpaste commercial smile at my kids. In real life I'm less bouncy and more irritated. There are so many reasons one gets mad: things are out of control and we want to control them, we're hangry, we're tired, someone scratched our surface, someone stabbed us deeply, someone else was hangry and tired and forgot their filter, someone accidentally bumped our raw nerve without trying, someone ate fishy crackers on my couch again. The possibilities are endless. 

It's also no secret I love being a SAHM (Stay At Home Mom) and that a big part of me enjoys being Harriet to Greg's Ozzie. I love my role as a wife and mom and I do not, for one second, want the burden of being the provider. I do not want to go to work. (I do want to escape sometimes but not for a paycheck. Just for my sanity.) I love wearing aprons, rolling pie crusts, stacking plates, and buying cute towels for the hand wash to dry on. I love kissing my man when he walks in from work and sitting down to a hot dinner. To each their own but I pretty much belong in the 50s. (Except I'd like to wear clothes from the 20s and 30s. Hey, it's my dream. I get to clarify.)

There is a quote that keeps surfacing in my life. It is about anger, but the picture it paints in my head is one with a turquoise Kitchen-Aid mixer, wooden spoons, and red polka dots edged with ric rac. It is probably happening this way because it mentions stirring and I love me some stirring. I love stirring blueberries in the muffin batter with a gentle figure eight and folding the whipped cream cloud into the dark mousse base. I watched Chocolat on Sunday and every time that aerial shot of Vianne stirring the glossy melted chocolate came up my mouth salivated. Stirring is good.

Except for the stirring Elder Lynn G. Robbins describes:

Satan damages and often destroys families within the walls of their own homes. His strategy is to stir up anger between family members. Satan is the “father of contention, and he stirreth up the hearts of men to contend with anger, one with another”. The verb stir sounds like a recipe for disaster: Put tempers on medium heat, stir in a few choice words, and bring to a boil; continue stirring until thick, cool off; let feelings chill for several days; serve cold; lots of leftovers.

Am I good at cooking anger? I think so. I'm for sure a control freak and I'm awesome at choice words because I'm a decent writer and thesaurus lover. This is a terrible skill to have. This is NOT what Harriet would do in her black house dress and high heels. This is also not what Jesus did. This is not what I am here to do.

Elder Jeffrey R. Holland cautioned, "Anger damages or destroys almost everything it touches. As someone has said, to harbor anger is like drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die. It is a vicious acid that will destroy the container long before it does damage to the intended object. There is nothing in it or its cousinly vices-violence, rage, bitterness, and hate-that has anything to do with living the gospel or the pursuit of happiness. I do not think anger can exist-or at least be fostered and entertained and indulged in-in a life being lived 'after the manner of happiness.'"

Great. I'm also awesome at the cousinly vice of bitterness. (Too much dark chocolate?) Am I a wicked witch with a commercial kitchen? Six burners all the better to roast you with? Inside one of my journal covers written in caps is SELFISHNESS DESTROYS FAMILIES. Is anger anything less than selfishness? Aren't we ultimately mad because we can't have it our way?

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf said, "There is enough heartache and sorrow in this life without our adding to it through our own stubbornness, bitterness, and resentment. We are not perfect. The people around us are not perfect. People do things that annoy, disappoint, and anger. In this mortal life it will always be that way. Nevertheless, we must let go of our grievances. Part of the purpose of mortality is to learn how to let go of such things. That is the Lord's way." 

Isn't it wonderful that there is advice like this? While I am cheered by colorful cookbook spines and the exhilaration of starting a new grocery list there is nothing like being awakened to the truth that the throes of motherhood have made me the Executive Chef of Hell's Kitchen. I'm damaging those I deem most precious with my temper. No matter how many culinary gadgets I own (and I even have that little bird that holds a lemon wedge and squeezes juice out of its beak) I've got to call it quits and get out of the kitchen. I've got to let my anger soufflé fall flat. I must stop being selfish and let go of my stirring spoon.

Be awesome at something else, Melissa, something good. And order pizza until you figure it out.

The best part about cooking is recipes. My recipe book is like my life's yearbook of friends. I have Jenn's shortbread chocolate chip cookies and pot pie, Michelle's whole wheat bread, Aunt Lynne's meatloaf, Dad's lemon bars, Mom's sloppy joes, Marcy's breadsticks, Heater's salted carmelitas, Jaime's mulligatawny soup, Frenchie's tarte tatin, Ryan and Mary's spring rolls, Mother Bear's apple pie, Tracey's stuffed mushrooms, Kenon's tortilla soup, Carson and Amy's salmon. I can prove no man is an island by my recipe book. I have lived! And my friends can cook!