My children just cleaned the kitchen--
without me asking them. Perhaps it's a sign of the
|You know it's official when it's written on a bus|
Before this fox-hole conversion, a request to clean the kitchen was grounds for civil unrest. Even the mere thought of having to empty the dishwasher could prompt protests that would rival those of the Mid-East. But today. Today my children have cleaned the kitchen, and as best I can tell there isn't a failed test or an incomplete homework assignment lurking in a backpack. All my crystal is in tact. In short, there is simply no basis, reason, or rationale for the pristine kitchen that awaited me when I got home from work.
Making a space of one's own should really be the first step in every recipe. Make yourself some space to cook. Make it a space where you will happily stand for hours--a place to recharge. Make it a space where you can rest a glass of wine and crank up your radio. Make sure it's a space where you can be surrounded by those you love. Forget about the Rapture. Make your kitchen a space where you can celebrate life's everyday mysteries--where against all odds and years of bad experience an Irish soda bread rises into golden perfection, and where petulant children will one day suddenly reveal themselves to be people who will clean the kitchen without being asked.