It felt really great helping in the kitchen when I was a child. Helping all around the house, actually. We all had jobs, you see. Dad went to work during the business day, and Mom went to night school to finish her degree. I went to preschool and played and helped around the house. Yeah, it seemed entirely logical to me at the time, and still kind of does.
At various points, I went to elementary school, Mom became the designated group mom for my dance classes’ costumes, Dad went back to school for his MBA, Mom became one of our Girl Scout troop leaders, I went to middle school, Dad got more responsibilities at work, Mom went back to work part-time, I went to high school, Mom went back to work full-time… and I gradually helped out more and more at home. These were jobs, and it felt right to take pride in them as part of our family.
It felt so very important to make a contribution to the family… and so when I was really little and full of energy, Mom put me to work dusting the turned spindles of our dining room set and the end tables in the family room, setting the table for dinner, sitting with her helping fold laundry and putting it away. Lemon Pledge is forever connected with joyful working feelings in my scent-memory. I got to help bake bread (punching down the dough was so cool!), make granola, stir dough and cut out cookies. The smell of baking is also intricately linked with happiness for me.
I’d help Dad any way he’d let me in the garage, handing him tools while he fixed the cars or did woodworking. He and Mom refinished furniture, painted and varnished unfinished pieces, and he built shelves and birdhouses, and I got to help. The scents of sawdust and various varnishes and wood stains are comfort smells for me.
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