I have come to a place of acceptance: I am never going to be a cook.

I have been stressing about this for weeks. This is the first year I will have to do Christmas dinner on my own. I've done it once before with my father-in-law's help. Part of me keeps saying, Come on, Elisabeth, you are a capable adult. You can make a turkey dinner. How hard can it be? You follow the steps, you mix the dressing, you stuff in into the turkey, and you roast it until it's done. You get the veggies ready in the meantime. Easy Peasy.

Except it's not. Because, and here's the thing, I am PROFOUNDLY disinterested in cooking. I have a wide range of interests, a solid knowledge base in most subjects, and well-developed skills in many areas. I'm a good wife and mother. I'm ambitious and focused. But I just cannot make myself get interested in the preparation of food. I realized recently that I've been harbouring vague feelings of guilt about this, because so many of my peers love cooking. I've got the kind of friends who make delightful dishes from scratch. It seems like just about everybody is a foodie. I make healthy (if straightforward) meals for my kids, using organic ingredients wherever possible, but it's a daily chore I grit my teeth through. My friends' kids are exposed to all kinds of interesting homemade food with varied spices and exotic ingredients, and dammit, this makes me feel bad. Except that I KNOW good mothering does not depend on culinary skill.

So this year, I've decided to admit that I'm not a cook, and I'm going to stop feeling inadequate about it. I'm going to be happy learning the things I'm interested in, and I'm going march into Whole Foods and pick up my pre-prepared Christmas dinner with pride. (Besides, I still get to cook it at home, so the house will smell good).

Anyone else feel the same? Non-cooks unite!