The year was 1979 and I was excited about my new kitchen, my new home. My dad, husband and brothers-in-law constructed a ranch home on the farm and I was the happy homemaker. The kitchen felt so spacious, the cupboards were state of the art, a roll out shelf for my cookware and a deep pantry. A hood range was a new feature for me, a bride of four years. We had two children, ages 3 and 11 months, and this space felt like a mansion to me.
We loved our home. As our family soon included an additional two children and we made use of all the space we had. Our children grew and the house shrank. My tall teenage sons seemed to fill each room with just their feet and legs alone. But our home was mostly filled with laughter, love, those squabbles siblings endure and lots of hard work. The kitchen was the central hub. We spent time around our oval wooden table sharing meals, ideas, quips and events of the day. As the mother bear of this household, I cooked three meals a day for my cubs. Breakfast was eggs, pancakes, waffles or muffins, all mixed and stirred using my favorite recipes. Many roasts, pasta meals and hamburgers made the trek from stove to table to bellies.
Now, it's 2013, our children are grown and have lives of their own. We have doubled in numbers, as well as girth. Our even dozen family bump bottoms, elbows and other unmentionable body parts when we try gather for a meal in our kitchen/dining area. Rick and I made the decision a year ago to remodel the kitchen by removal of half walls with spindles and a coat closet that never shut properly from the day it was built.
These next few posts will allow you, my readers, to peek into our home and watch as we take out the old and bring in the new. I expect my home will be a complete disaster for few weeks. But as they say, if you are going to make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs.