It’s the noisiest house

In the whole of our town,

There’s doors always slamming, (bang-bang-bang)

And things falling down.

There’s my dad, who keeps shouting,

And my mum, who breaks things,

The baby (who’ll bite you!)

And our dog running rings.

There’s my sister the screamer (the loudest speaker)

And my brother who roars (吼叫),

And a grandpa who’s stone deaf.

(He’s the one who slams doors).

So come down to our house,

You don’t need the address,

You’ll hear it ten miles away

And the outside’s a mess.

You won’t mind the racket (吵闹),

You’ll just love the din (喧嚣).

For there’s never a dull moment

In the house we live in!

The sound of my mother preparing breakfast fills the house — my morning alarm.

As I walk toward the kitchen, I’m greeted by my mother standing over the cooker. She effortlessly cooks a dish that blends (融合) Western and Eastern styles, a beloved breakfast classic in our family. This is my grandmother’s recipe.

Since my grandmother’s passing, I’ve become more aware of my mother’s aging and her devotion to cooking for us. She has cooked for her family for more than 30 years, dividing her time between three countries — Korea, Canada and Germany. When my parents visit us from Korea, they stay with us for several months. My mother helps around the house, showing her cooking skills to provide delicious meals for me, my partner and our kids. In every other year, she and my dad will travel to Berlin to spend a couple of weeks with my sister and her partner.

According to Statista, most Canadians report spending between 31 and 60 minutes preparing an average weekday dinner for themselves and others in their houses. Ten percent stated that they spend more than an hour preparing their evening meal. My mother belongs to that 10 percent.

Her cooking goes beyond the kitchen, starting with careful grocery shopping trips where she examines produce and finds the best deals. She takes everyone’s preferences and needs into account. The meal she creates becomes a ritual (仪式), bringing the family together to connect and share. Helping her out in the kitchen requires a great deal of patience. Yet, I know it’s her way of expressing love.

As I prepare the vegetables, she notices that my carrots are not evenly sized. She pushes me aside to take over the task.

“Just do the dishes.’’

In my hometown, Oklahoma, the dirt goes everywhere. When my sister, Faye, and I walk to school, we cover our mouths so we don’t breathe in the dirt. Mama says all the dust is due to the drought(干旱).

Last Sunday, there was no dirt in the air, only bright spring sunshine and a clear blue sky. After church, Papa went to the field to check on the cattle while Mama started dinner. Faye and I played in the yard. Then the temperature suddenly dropped, and Mama shouted from the house, “Iris, you and Faye get inside, real quick now!”

I looked to the west and saw a huge black cloud of dust. “Faye, go with Mama!” I shouted. “I will warn Papa.” Covering my face with one hand, I struggled my way toward our family car and got in. The storm hit so fast that the day turned into night in an instant. Papa was still out there! I needed to help him find the car. I turned on the front lights, but would Papa see them in the thick darkness? I pushed the horn (喇叭) again and again, hoping Papa would hear it.

Suddenly, to my great surprise and relief, Papa’s face appeared at the window. He opened the door and climbed onto the seat next to me. After Papa shut off the car’s lights, we huddled together in the darkness for hours. I worried the dirt would bury us.

Finally, the wind subsided and the dust began to settle. We got out and reached the front porch just as Mama and Faye came out from the house.

“I’m safe thanks to Iris,” Papa said. “The car’s horn led me to shelter.”

“I’m so proud of you,” Mama said to me.

Tears of joy streamed down my dirty checks because our family had survived the horrible storm.