It goes without saying that Seigle’s loves kitchens—but the story behind our love for kitchen extends beyond just the cabinets and countertops. We know that the kitchen is the heart of the home. Every day, it’s the place where meals are prepared and shared, homework is finished, the day’s events are discussed and dissected, and the mess and best of life happens. On holidays and gatherings, it’s where catching up and action originates. Ultimately, it’s where memories are made. This is why we love to build functional, beautiful kitchens—because your story starts here, and your memories will live here.
We love to hear your favorite kitchen memories. Seigle’s fan Charles Falls couldn’t help but to think about the holidays when we asked for his favorite kitchen memory. This precious story is about a mom’s wisdom and quality time together.
Every Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, my mother would spend the entire evening in the kitchen cutting and dicing all the vegetables for the next day’s meal. It was a lonely job. As I got older and was able to help, my mother, who never liked to see me handle sharp objects, gave me the chore of squeezing out the excess water from the bread that was soaking before it was turned into stuffing. She told me I needed to squeeze out every drop I could so that the stuffing wasn’t soggy. I did my best, and after two hours, my hands would ache.
No matter, though. The two hours spent talking and laughing were great. And my mother would always make a big deal to others the next day when she would declare that the stuffing was perfect— neither soggy or dry. I did this for about 8 years.
Once I moved out and wasn’t there to help, I was curious if my father would take up the chore. But rather than ask when I got there and put my father on the defensive if he didn’t help, I thought I’d just see if the stuffing had a different taste.
Wouldn’t you know? It was exactly the same. I was proud that my dad helped, and told him so.
“I didn’t do anything,” he said. Ugh. That meant my mom must have done all the squeezing. So I gave her a big hug and apologized for putting all the work back on her.
“It was no more work than any other year,” she said.
“No, you had to do all the squeezing,” I said. “Dad told me he didn’t help.”
“Well, yes, he didn’t help,” she said. “But I didn’t soak the bread, so I didn’t have to squeeze it. I only gave you that job so you’d have something to do while we talked. The stuffing tastes the same whether the bread is wet or dry.”
So for two hours each holiday eve, I performed a tiring, meaningless task side-by-side with my mother in our kitchen. But at the same time, for two hours each holiday eve, I had some of the most meaningful discussions I ever had with my mother.
Thank you, Charles, for sharing!
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