I was hitting the light in the kitchen when I looked around and said, "My kitchen looks crazy." There is one whole counter covered with the remnants of the last 48 hours: half empty soda bottles from our friends who came for pizza last night, a pile of supplies from the Walmart run tonight, pans of Christmas goodies achieved by the help of a sweet friend who spent the morning stirring fudge while I fed the baby, dealt with three potty training accidents and a plethora of cries of foul play from the kids. There's a roll of wrapping paper, my beloved copy of Les Miserables that I stumbled on in the basement, and a new tupperware that was my splurge of the evening. (It's how you know you are in the deep throes of motherhood: at the end of a rough day with one kid you treat yourself to a latte, at four kids you buy a new piece of tupperware.)
As that statement echoed in the empty living room, the observation regarding the state of my kitchen, I thought, "My life is crazy. Why shouldn't my kitchen look crazy?"
Is it crazy that I got a bachelor's degree so that I could read "Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?" about ten times a day.
Is it crazy that there is a chance that the brown under my finger nails could be poop? (I'm leaning towards chocolate chips but in all honesty...)
Is it crazy that when it's just me and the kids, there are five of us?
Kind of. That's the answer to all of that, I suppose. It is kind of crazy.
And yet, crazy has a way of settling over you so that yesterday's crazy is today's humdrum.
So good night, Crazy Kitchen. Looking forward to some serious quality time with you tomorrow...and the next day...and all the next days after that.
Guess the craziest thing about it is how different your life can turn out, twisting and turning in ways you didn't expect, and how in the end you can still be pretty crazy about it.
And good night to you, too. Here's wishing a night of sweet dreams and a morning sunrise full of possibility. And lattes. Or tupperware. Whichever is your thing.