We had nachos. Not super-exciting. But we were all in the ugly kitchen together. Queen was playing - what evening can't be made better by "Somebody to Love"? - and Mr and I were singing along at the top of our lungs...well, Mr was singing. He can do that. My voice could charitably be called "aspiring to mediocre".
Mr was making more doughnuts (more to come on that...it's a whole post by itself). I was frying the ground beef, Jr was in the exer-saucer chewing on a book, and Miss was on her kitchen stool, alternating between "helping" Mr and "helping" me.The two year old version of helping varies with the task, of course. For doughnut making, you stick your fingers as far as they will go into the dough, while Mr is trying to knead it. And you lick the flour off of the parts of the counter you can reach while no one is looking. For meat frying, vegetable chopping, and cheese grating, you help by asking to taste everything, and as soon as you've stuck the piece in your mouth, before you've even chewed it, you ask for another.
As soon as "Don't Stop Me Now" came on, Miss and I took a break from working and "helping" to dance. And I mean dance. We jived all over the kitchen (which I've been told by Sparky the fire safety dog isn't a good idea when there's frying meat on the stove), and when I picked her up and hung her upside down, Miss grabbed my ears and gave me six or seven kisses. And said "I kissed you lots, Mommy".
How can a pretty kitchen top that?
I jest. It would have been even better in a pretty kitchen. But only after the fact, when I could remember it in situ, as it were. At the time, I didn't notice the floor, except to dance on it.
