Adults kids are awesome

Last night I lured ok…bribed ok invited Will and David over for a pot roast supper. You know, the whole 9 yards, a chunk of slow roasted beef, potatoes in a rich gravy made from the juices of the roast and a toasty brown roux, and a spanking fresh salad from the garden with a lemony-garlicky dressing still warm from the stove. They know what’s good and wandered over with a studied insouciance, not wanting to appear too eager but unable to resist the lure of a pot roast.

And it occured to me that having adult children is kinda ok really ok TOTALLY AWESOME.

The bit about worrying for their futures, that’s relaxed. I mean, I am a mom, I am going to worry a little bit, but it’s a different worry. I feel like the real work is finished. Now it’s a second hand worry, more of a…hm….”gee I hope he finds a nice girl” rather than “oh Lord it’s midnight and he’s not homemaybehe’sdeadinaditchohnohnoohno”

The other day Will and i were talking and he said “oh, I guess what I just said wasn’t the kind of thing I’d tell my mother but you feel like a friend.”

and yes I died and sat on a heavenly cloud for a second then I said

“I quit being your mother when you moved out. I’ll always be your Mom but I don’t have the kind of Authority a mother has.”

And then he said “OK! Awesome!”

Then just this morning another thing occurred to me.

You spend 18 yrs (roughly) bringing up a kid, worrying about him, fretting over grades and behavior and all that. Then you let go and he flies off and you worry and hope he’s being sensible even when you’re fairly sure he isn’t, you fret a bit when he doesn’t call once a week and gradually the hold loosens and time slips by a little bit more and you realize you think of him all the time but don’t worry much anymore.

And when he comes by for a free meal, you sit and talk and laugh, you discuss the oil spill and girls and politics and roomates and realize

They’re adults. Holy cow, they’re adults. And I get to have this kind of relationship for another 60 years. 18 years of work in exchange for 60 years of *this*

And people, it is so, so SO worth it.

Reel Them In Pot Roast

3 pound sirloin roast (or other lean cut, London Broil works)
2 cups water
2 tablespoons minced garlic
1 tablespoon dried minced onion
4 inch stem of fresh rosemary
2-3 inch stems of fresh thyme
black pepper
Put the roast in an oven safe skillet. Add the seasonings all over the roast, and add the water. Put a lid on the skillet and put it in a 275 degree oven for a loooooong time (6 hours+/-)
About 2 hours before you plan to eat, peel several smallish-medium potatoes (russets).
Take the roast out of the skillet (carefully, ought to be falling-apartish) and put on a plate or something, set it aside. Drain the juices out of the skillet into a cup. SAVE IT! YOU NEED IT!
Put the skillet on a stove, turn the stove on to medium-high. Put about 1/4 cup olive oil in the skillet and add about 1/4 cup flour. Stir constantly until it smells toasty.
Add water and 1/2 cup red wine to the juices you saved until you have about 3 cups. Pour into the roux (the flour oil stuff) and stir with a whisk, quite vigourously until it starts to thicken. Taste and salt as needed. Be sure to scrape the bits off the bottom of the skillet.
Then! Put the peeled potatoes in the gravy and put it in the oven at 350 degrees for about an hour,covered, be sure and turn the taters now and then to keep them coated in the gravy. uncover as soon as they’re done and bake for another 15 minutes so they’ll kind of brown.
Put the roast back in the skillet, cover, and warm up for a bit before serving.

times are flexible. you want 5-6 hours of cooking time on the roast, and a crock pot works well but the skillet is good for making the gravy. Allow an hour or so for cooking the potatoes, and cooking them in the gravy is key. if you have huge potatoes, cut them up, but I like the medium ones and keeping them whole.

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About rootietoot

I do what I can.
This entry was posted in Awesomeness, Dewicate feewings, family, food, Hooray!, kids. Bookmark the permalink.

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