I share photos of my kids' lunches, which means I get a lot of good-natured "Why do you spend so much time making lunches?"
Besides the obvious benefits of feeding them good and healthy food, the answer is simple.
Of the many lessons my mom taught me, there is one I practise every day.
Food is love.
It is a gesture, a kindness, a token; it shows how much you care.
When I flip through my childhood memories, so many show my mom standing in our kitchen. I can still hear the sound of her big chopping knife and the sizzle of her wok.
She brings her famous noodles to every gathering, even the catered ones.
If any of us are feeling under the weather, she drops off homemade congee.
She perfected an Irish stew, with a dash of soy sauce, so my Irish dad wouldn't go without.
When my boyfriend and I broke up and I was too devastated to eat, she dragged me to our favourite noodle house and forced me to eat a giant plate of chow mein while she quietly handed me tissue after tissue for my tears.
My mom showed love with the care she put into feeding us, my dad by staying awake after the night shift to eat breakfast with me and my sister before we left for school.
Now my parents look forward to catching up with their grandkids around tables piled high with dim sum. I hope the sights and sounds stay with my children always.
When my husband left for university, his mom had butter horns and jujubes on the counter every time he came home. He still misses them.
I hope my kids forgive the times I am less than stellar at showing how much they matter.
I hope they remember me standing in the kitchen making lunches and family-sized casseroles.
The reason was simple.
Food is love.
