Carrot Cake with Coconut

Carrot cake with coconut is a great way to incorporate vegetables into desserts. Baking it with little helpers allows time to reflect on the skills these small creatures need to be great adults. We are raising adults, not children.

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By this, I mean, I expect my children to be behave as adults once they are adults. In order to do this, they need to learn responsibility now. It is their time to learn how to treat other people with respect, how to take care of themselves, how to follow the rules, and when they should question them. It is the time for them to fail. As children, when they are loved and supported, they get to make mistakes that adults should not ever make.

This is a hard job for parents.

As a parent, I run into plenty of adults that are basically decent human beings. They have meaningful and sustainable jobs. They are active in their communities and their churches. Plenty of them are people that anyone would like to hang out with. And then you start to see those small cracks. Those things that don’t seem like that big of a deal, until they are.

My husband and I had a conversation in the car the other day.

“Do you still like me?” I asked him, knowing it was a stupid question.

“Yes, of course. You are one of my favorite people.” He replied.

“That’s not what I meant.” I said. I realized how much like a stereotypical girl I sounded in that moment. “What I meant is, I am feeling vulnerable right now because I’m working through all of the incidents of the last week. I just finished the book “the Circle” and we saw that episode of “Brooklyn 99″ and all of that is just playing around in my head. It leaves me feeling very outside of myself. I would like to feel more connected to you so that I can feel grounded.”

He looked at me and took my hand. The warmth and strength of his hand grounded me. He knows exactly how hard he needs to hold it to keep me steady. He let me talk.

Last week at work, I attended a meeting to discuss an improvement that needed to be made. During the course the the meeting, I was yelled at by 2 out of the three men that were in the room. The third stayed silent.

Apparently people don’t much like being questioned about why they did something they did. Even when it is literally my job to ask those questions.

They yelled at me.

I wasn’t aggressive, I was calm. My questions were valid. They didn’t see it that way.

Not to make light of the situation, but the details of it are not relevant and may be embarrassing to the people involved. The crux of it was that I was put in a very uncomfortable situation and had to try to maintain any sort of composure. Because I was taught to. I calmly said “If you are going to continue to talk to me that way, I will leave the meeting.” It didn’t stop. I did a quick mental evaluation. My feelings about my treatment seemed less important than the work. Also, I didn’t want to cause more drama or be seen as “emotional”. I held back my tears as well as I could and continued to walk the men backwards through my logic. I wasn’t wrong.

As I was discussing the incident with my friends, they pointed out all the things I could’ve done differently. “Maybe you should just stay quiet.” “It might be a good idea to lie low for a while.” “Let us know if we need to come into meetings with you.”

After I reported the incident to HR, some colleagues told me to not expect much. “They see these guys as too important to the business. They are used to being able to do what they want.”

In follow up meetings, they referred to it as “perceived” yelling.

All of this was in my head when I asked my husband the first stupid question. I followed it up with more. “Do you feel like your opinions are valued at work? What happens at your work when you disagree? “

He assured me that his experience was completely different.

I looked over at him again. “Here’s the thing. It’s not even about me. It’s about our daughter. We’re trying to raise her to be fierce and independent. We encourage her to ask questions and to explore her intelligence. We’re trying to teach our boys about respect for all people. They need to be sensitive about how they treat women.”

A friend of mine was at trivia with her colleagues. As she leaned against a table, a drunk guy came up to her and grabbed her ass. She whipped around and yelled at the guy. He basically laughed it off and said “It’s your last chance to get with this.” Her colleagues sat there and did nothing. They had all had extensive training about prevention of sexual harassment. But harassment, someone would argue, needs to be a continued pattern of behavior. One incident doesn’t mean harassment.

It doesn’t make it better.

As a parent, I take my role seriously. I want my sons to not be the men that yell at women and tear them apart. I don’t want them grabbing unknown women’s asses. My daughter should not go into a room and be set upon by men who should know better.

So we talk. I bring them into the kitchen with me. We bake, we cook, we talk. They tell me about their days and ask about mine. We talk about the good things. They tell me about the bad things. We discuss the “truth”. We discuss how people should be treated. When I have a bad day, which isn’t often any more, they know to listen and try to understand. They know how to give love and comfort to me and each other.

And through all of this, through the conversations, they are learning how to cook. The kitchen is becoming a home to them.

“Hey, can you put this butter in the mixer, please. It needs to be on about 5. So tell me what happened?”

“Honey, if you’d put the carrot peeler away properly, you’d know where to find it now.”

“What do you think the next step should be?”

I’m not always patient, I’m not always kind. I apologize when I’m wrong. I also serve them the carrot cake with coconut they made and decorated while I taught them a little more about being a grown up.

My daughter’s favorite parts of the carrot cake with coconut are licking the beaters and putting on the sprinkles. My favorite part is listening to how they interact with each other.

Sometimes a carrot cake is just a carrot cake. Sometimes it’s a lesson in raising adults.

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