Mother's Day in Our New Kitchen

This morning I woke up to the sound of whispered giggles and the smell of something burning. Marcus and Sophie had conspired to make me Mother’s Day breakfast in our beautiful new kitchen – emphasis on “attempted.”

Mother’s Day in Our New Kitchen

The pancakes were slightly charcoal around the edges, but Sophie was so proud of her mixing technique that I ate three of them with genuine enthusiasm. Theo contributed by throwing Cheerios from his high chair with the precision of a tiny food catapult, ensuring Biscuit had plenty to clean up later.

We’ve been in this house for two months now, and I’m still getting used to having a kitchen where all four of us can fit without someone getting elbowed. Our old apartment kitchen was the size of a closet – I spent two years making bottles while Marcus made coffee while Sophie ate cereal, all in a space meant for one person.

A house is just walls and a mortgage payment. But this kitchen, with Marcus burning pancakes and Sophie standing on her tippy-toes to help and Theo launching breakfast foods like he’s conducting a symphony – this is home. Happy Mother’s Day to me, and to the chaos I wouldn’t trade for anything.