I had a rare moment tonight... I was alone in my kitchen. Just me. My husband is hurt and in bed, the kids were off to their rooms to sleep as well. I was finishing up tidying up, listening to music and dancing. By myself.
I suddenly stopped and looked around. At peace, but not, marveling at how quickly life changes and how the kitchen seems to be the point around which my household revolves and all my changes too. It always has been the center, since I was little. The thought began an avalanche of images in my head. The various kitchens and the big moments (and small) they held.
It was in a kitchen, over 4 1/2 years ago now, that I huddled in a corner, sobbing because I had chosen to separate from my kids father... they were with him, I was alone and terrified. A small, clean apartment kitchen that looked out at a cherry blossom tree.
Over a year later, it was that same little kitchen that I stood in, cooking, telling my two children as they sat on bar stools facing me, that I was dating someone, again terrified. I had been single over a year, but had planned truly on staying that way for many many years, if not forever. And now they looked at me dubiously as I shared that the man they knew as "my friend Jason" was actually who I was dating.
And in that same small apartment kitchen, I cooked and watched my kids since it looked out on the living room, as they grappled with probably the toughest year of their lives that first year of separation and divorce. It's where I grew from sobbing and scared, to peaceful and confident. Where I danced alone, finding me again. Where I taught my kids that even tough change brings out the best in us.
It was a kitchen, in a small apartment we lived in with my mother, that I roller skated in... until the neighbors complained. My daughters have now been known to scooter through mine.
It was in the dining area, of a large open kitchen with a cold, red, brick floor that my mom told my twin sister and me that she was pregnant with my little brother. I was 10. And excited. I remember crossing that kitchen floor many times in the middle of the night, because the baby was crying and I wanted to tell my mother he was up.
The kitchen, that same open brick one and later, when my parents built the new house, the galley kitchen that opened up to a bar where I would often sit facing my mother... it's where I headed immediately when I got home from school. It was the meeting place. Where I complained about unfair teachers, or cried over broken hearts, or laughed about stupid stuff with my mom. That kitchen saw my mom proving she could still do a kick line like when she was in drill team. It saw numerous cookie baking episodes while we laughed and danced to Motown music, or cheesy Christmas tunes.
My kitchen now is a cross between that galley kitchen and the open one connected to the dining room I grew up in. The oak cabinets I want to refinish and the yellowing tile I can't wait to replace. It's our center though. And there's that bar where our two sons now often sit. And, like my mother, I find myself in my kitchen watching them, talking to them, reliving our days together while I cook or put away groceries. It's from there I can drift back and forth to the dining table while I'm busy to help our two daughters with slime creation or painting or whatever project they or I have come up with and spread across our large table. That kitchen is where you can often find my husband and me together... cooking, planning, washing dishes, goofing off, tagging each other with dish towels.
Our kitchen is where you can often find the entire family together because I made "kitchen clean up" a family together chore instead of leaving it to one person. It's where we learned that working together makes it more fun while it makes it go faster when you have to do a chore. It's where all 4 kids were making insane amounts of noise during our last kitchen clean up because Jason played some "pirate punk" music that got all the kids excited.
Tonight, I took a moment to just sit at the steps that lead from my kitchen up to the boys' rooms and look around and marvel at how much has changed in 4 1/2 years. I took a moment to breathe, and enjoy a moment alone, while being grateful that this spot is often bustling with activity. From my perch on the stairs I could see the last pot I had to wash that held the au jus from the beef dips I made tonight that made William declare "you make the best beef dips ever, mom! I'm serious". I could see the tops of the laptops the boys play on when they are together and I laugh inwardly at their highs and lows while they play the game. I could see the coasters my husband and I have begun collecting and hanging up that mark our travels together. I could see the Indonesian soy sauce I'd forgotten to put away, the "secret ingredient" in so much of what I cook... that I will pass down to all 4 kids as I teach them to cook too. I could see Delaney's certificate from swim instruction hanging by Jayden's report cards on the refrigerator next to the magnet bearing Elizabeth's original artwork and William's own grades. I could see the dishwasher I'd finished emptying only to immediately refill it and a cookie jar my mother made for me with pictures of all the kids. I could see the table bearing William's freakin' Legos that I've asked him to move about 5 times already next to Lizzy's iPad that I'd already asked her to plug into her charging cord about 4 hours previously.
I didn't want to move. I just wanted to sit there, looking around, trying to find more blessings to be grateful for. No other room is quite like this one. Sure the front living room contains our Nightmare Before Christmas collection and the aquarium. The back living room has the board games and blankets. But the kitchen... it's the center. It's what this beautiful life I've been blessed with revolves around. It's where I can see all the places I treasure because they are often occupied by the husband and kids I love and where some of the best conversations and joys and laughs and adventures and lessons take place.
I finally got up, finished my tidying, took one last look in each kids room to see if they were sleeping, and stood in the middle of the kitchen one more time. It was strangely peaceful and lonely all at the same time. And I was utterly happy and peaceful, yet lonely and wistful all at the same time.
I should set up a camera in that room. Create a time lapse video over the years. As the kids grow past me, as we cook together, as we post more report cards and calendars on the refrigerator. How fun would it be to watch it.
I let my own time lapse video play a little longer in my head. The kitchens and the moments. I left my kitchen tidy, dark and quiet. Ready to fill with more memories tomorrow.
Maybe I'll make crepes for breakfast. They get excited when I make those...
No comments:
Post a Comment