Anytime I see banana pudding on a menu, I'm filled with an euphoric（精神愉快的） sense of well being and taken back to a special moment in my life when I learned an important lesson about jealousy¹ and love.

It all began when my stepchildren came for a visit shortly after their father and I were married. Cheryl was 8, and Chuck was 10. Our small apartment soon became an obstacle course littered with stuffed animals, toys, and games.

But I liked the kids from the start. They were everything I could have wanted in a son and daughter.

Of course, I wanted to win them over. They seemed to like me well enough, but I wasn't sure, especially at mealtime. Cheryl, in particular, enjoyed watching me prepare the evening meal and shadowed my every move in the kitchen. She had an insatiable（贪得无厌的，不知足的） curiosity combined with an enchanting²（迷人的，妩媚的） , yet somewhat disconcerting, honesty.

"Whatcha doing?" she asked.

"Making potato salad," I replied.

She stood on her tiptoes and scrutinized³（详细检查） the bowls of chopped pickles⁴, eggs, and onions. Her lips curled in disgust（厌恶，讨厌） . She pointed⁵ at the bowls. "What's that? And that ... and that!"

My answers did not seem to please her. She shook her head in disapproval⁶. "My mama doesn't make it that way," she informed me.

"Well, just taste it at dinner," I countered, smiling thinly to mask my irritation⁷. "If you don't like it, you don't have to eat it."

It became a nightly ritual. Unfortunately, her father believed that children should eat everything on their plate, including a sample of any dreaded⁸（可怕的） dish that their mother made in a different way than I did.

As a result, I started to feel like Snow White's wicked（邪恶的，恶劣的） stepmother, plotting against the princess as I willed her to succumb⁹ to my culinary magic. Chuck, who at first ate anything and everything, developed critical tendencies. He soon took up the hue¹⁰ and cry（大声抗议） of "Mama doesn't make it that way."

Each night after dinner, we sat on the sofa with Dad in the middle, a child on each side, and me on the outside. It seemed appropriate. I was feeling more and more like an outcast.

One night while wrestling with his father on the sofa, Chuck found some stray popcorn¹¹ kernels¹² under the cushions. Cheryl chastised¹³（惩罚，责骂） me, saying that her mama always vacuumed under their sofa seats every week.

By this time, I was developing a serious dislike both for her mother and her methods.

Then, at last, I found a dish their mama didn't make – one both the kids liked – banana pudding. They helped me in the kitchen. Chuck beat the egg whites for the topping while Cheryl carefully lined the pan with vanilla¹⁴（香草味的） wafers. I cut up the bananas and prepared the filling. They both licked the bowl. We all had fun. It was a time of sharing and laughter.

Later, making banana pudding became a cherished family tradition.

On the last night before they were to return home, we had arranged a family get-together¹⁵. When the doorbell rang, Cheryl scampered¹⁶ to answer. My sister-in-law Carol stood framed in the doorway¹⁷ with a large bowl clutched in her hands. "What's that?" Cheryl immediately wanted to know.

"It's banana pudding," Carol offered proudly.

Cheryl took a closer look, then shook her head from side to side and said, "Karen doesn't make it that way."

I dissolved in laughter that no one else understood. Suddenly, my tension and anxiety disappeared, and I knew that when those kids got back home, their mother would be hearing a lot about how "Karen doesn't do it that way." She had my sympathy and respect.

It seemed their mom and I had more in common than I thought, we both used one important ingredient（原料，要素） in our cooking, the most active one – love.