I hate my new kitchen.  Or, maybe it’s that my new kitchen hates me.  And for the record, my new kitchen is not new at all.  In fact, it’s quite old.  Not avocado green, 4×4 grout less tile old, but it’s definitely not the shiny new, custom gourmet kitchen that I recently left behind.

It’s just that I am having a hard time dealing with a refrigerator that freezes, a freezer that refuses to freeze, an oven that burns anything brave enough to enter it’s cavernous mouth, a dishwasher that won’t wash dishes, and a solid-surface, electric range that isn’t much better than a dorm room hot plate.  I won’t even mention the cabinets!

Truth be told, I probably could overlook a lot about this dysfunctional kitchen if it were more aesthetically pleasing.  But it’s not.  So I am ruthless with my insults and selfish with my attention. I have neglected spending time in this room for the better part of a month.

This has to stop. The kitchen, even this ugly, pathetic one, is the heart of any home.  The kitchen is where we begin and end our day as a family, before heading out into the world or retiring to our respective corners of the house.

I am tired of take-out and eating out and fend-for-yourself night. And really, this kitchen bothers no one else but me.  So I will make peace with my new kitchen.  I will cook a proper dinner for my family, we will gather together, break bread and give thanks.

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