My husband made dinner last night. He made what I lovingly, privately call "Redneck Goolosh". It is the Woodstock of carbohydrates. Contents: noodles, corn, cheese (measured in pounds), chicken, cream of chicken soup and maybe a hint of cream of mushroom? It is one of my kids faves and I like it, but my butt feels bigger with every swallow.
He made it in Pyrex casserole dishes. These dishes have been, shall we say, "washed" by my kids since about 2003 every other day. They develop these crusted corners and spots on them (for the life of me I can't imagine where the spots come from) and when I pull them out of the cupboards, a tyrade of large proportions ensues (sometimes a swear will slip out). I scrub them using all the anger I can muster and they are clean for one more use. This has been our system until recent developments have left me more in tune with my kitchen (and less angry). I stood today at the sink, lovingly washing my Pyrex. Never has it shone brighter. Then I lovingly wiped off my countertops and sink and stove and fridge and table. I stood in my kitchen, no longer a stranger. It felt like mine and it looked like mine and I am so proud.
I tell you, it's the little things.
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