A Quote by Laila Rouass

I want my daughter to grow up with memories of home-cooked meals, just as I did as one of seven children by Moroccan parents. — © Laila Rouass
I want my daughter to grow up with memories of home-cooked meals, just as I did as one of seven children by Moroccan parents.
In Holland, Moroccans automatically also have the Moroccan nationality even if they're born in the Netherlands, because the Moroccan law says that if one of the parents is Moroccan the children wherever they are born in the world are Moroccan as well.The Moroccan youth in the Netherlands between the age of 14 and 23, two-thirds of them have been arrested by the police at least once in their life.
I grew up in a household where we cooked all the time. My mom cooked all the time; my dad cooked. My grandmothers cooked. I have memories of sitting on the counter and snapping green beans with my grandmother.
My parents did their best - that earns a lot of forgiveness. But they say children grow up in spite of their parents, and I think I did.
Children grow rapidly, forget the centuries-long embrace from their parents, which to them lasted but seconds. Children become adults, live far from their parents, live their own houses, learn ways of their own, suffer pain, grow old. Children curse their parents for their wrinkled skin and hoarse voices. Those now old children also want to stop time, but at another time. They want to freeze their own children at the center of time.
Sometimes I'll say, "I wrote that book," and the person will look at you as if you're really strange. One time that happened to my daughter on a plane. She was sitting next to a girl who was reading one of my books and my daughter said, "My mother wrote that book." And the girl started to quiz my daughter, asking her all sorts of questions, like what are the names of Judy's children and where did she grow up. My daughter thought it was so funny.
My daughter is seven, and some of the other second-grade parents complain that their children don't read for pleasure. When I visit their homes, the children's rooms are crammed with expensive books, but the parent's rooms are empty. Those children do not see their parents reading, as I did every day of my childhood. By contrast, when I walk into an apartment with books on the shelves, books on the bedside tables, books on the floor, and books on the toilet tank, then I know what I would see if I opened the door that says 'PRIVATE--GROWNUPS KEEP OUT': a child sprawled on the bed, reading.
For example, parents who talk a lot to their children have kids with better language skills, parents who spank have children who grow up to be violent, parents who are neither too authoritarian or too lenient have children who are well-adjusted, and so on.
I've always liked home-cooked meals.
Some of my earliest memories, from when I was six or seven, are of going to see Pedro Infante movies and telling my mother, 'When I grow up I want to be like them.'
That's not what I want my children to hear. That's not representative of the country that I want my children to grow up in. And so that actually I found far more upsetting as a mom, as a woman, as an American, and even as my mother's daughter than anything they said about my mom.
There's a big difference in outcomes between children who grow up without a father and children who grow up with a married set of parents.
Loving relatives and home-cooked meals are solid levees against a recession.
Children need parents who will let them grow up to be themselves, but parents often have personal agendas they try to impose on their children.
Sisters, while they are growing up, tend to be very rivalrous and as young mothers they are given to continual rivalrous comparisons of their several children. But once the children grow older, sisters draw closer together and often, in old age, they become each other's chosen and most happy companions. In addition to their shared memories of childhood and of their relationship to each other's children, they share memories of the same home, the same homemaking style, and the same small prejudices about housekeeping that carry the echoes of their mother's voice.
It was just a normal family. We were playing basketball, we were playing soccer. It was home-cooked meals, just peaceful and happy times.
So many of my memories are generated by and organized around food: what I ate, what people cooked, what I cooked, what I ordered in a restaurant. My mental palate is also inextricably intertwined with the verbal part of my brain. Food, words, memories all twist together, so it was the obvious way to structure my life. Each memory of food opened up an entire scene for me, it was the key that unlocked everything.
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