I was busy baking something the other day and I thought, you know, I really feel at home here in the kitchen. When I have extra energy and ambition, this is where I go to make some happy treats, a fabulous meal, or the fancy dishes for a party. This is where I go to gain control of my life--by washing the dishes--because I don't feel like I can have it all together if my house is a mess, but by golly if at least my kitchen is clean, I'm off the hook, at peace, and free to pursue whatever I want to (and to put off other, less connected-to-me chores). The kitchen is where I feel the most appreciated, the most skilled, the most feminine and motherly. Some help in the kitchen is always the best kind of service to me. The kitchen is my command center, my source of physical power (as in, I can give or I can take. No dinner until your homework is done! Oh, your room is clean? Of course you can have a cupcake.) The kitchen is where I am most likely to sing and dance. And best of all, as a disgusted Cooper pointed out today when Mark and I were kissing when he came home from meetings, "That's the WORST thing that happens in the kitchen!"
Cooper was not in a particularly generous mood tonight, though. After dinner he was singing the song from Aladdin to himself. "Prince Ali, mighty is he...strong as 10 regular men..." Pause. "I think Daddy is one of the regular men."