Friday, February 6, 2015

"table" manners

First it was the cabinet doors.  Then someone stole our table.  

Not really.  They have just been removed as part of the kitchen painting project underway here this week.

It turns out it is hard to feed a family of five in a kitchen that is plastic wrapped.  

Who would have thunk it?  The painters kept apologizing to me for how inconvenient it was going to be.  But I kept thinking, how bad can it be?  We camp.  We eat outside all the time.  

I have a gas grill on the patio.  And a camp cooking stove.  

I am a flexible person.  And heck, someone else is painting every nook and crannie of our very gnarly kitchen.  So that's worth it.

I truly had visions that we were going to handle it well.  But several snow days at home, and then several days with sick kids at home, and children whose moods and stomachs do not adapt to my telling them the snack cabinet is sealed off, that I have no way to heat a can of soup, and we are about ready to head for the hills.  I am beginning to understand the inconvenience better.

And this is even before next week when we won't be able to actually step into the kitchen at all when the floors get sanded and refinished.

Eating at home, and school lunches being prepared and lunch bags and containers returning home each day, there is still a need to wash the dishes.  

If only I had thought to remove the dishwashing soap from the cabinet yesterday...

The heat source is plastic wrapped.  

The handy in house technology advisor is plastic wrapped.

And so, we are indeed being flexible.   

I know.  The horror.

So flexible in fact that we still made it to school on time this morning even though we were visited during breakfast served on the floor by the friendly silverware drawer mouse who managed to still find the drawers even though they were temporarily housed in the family room.  He sat there watching us climb off the floor flailing and screeching onto any available spot of higher ground. 

And so, table removed but feeding the family still necessary, we are making do. I keep calling the kids to the table.  Julia has taken to making air quotation marks with her fingers every time I call them to "dinner," tell them that we are going to "eat," or that I am "cooking."

Yes indeed, those are homemade waffles.  Because I rescued the waffle iron from its cabinet before it was sealed off.

I even heard myself tell Elliott that just because we didn't have a table didn't mean we should let our table manners go out the painted shut windows.

"Table" manners, Julia corrected me.

"Sorry", I responded.

And the kids, and our dog Sirius, seem to think it is fun. 

Or at least business as usual.

If I lie very very still, and if I don't look at her when she calls me, maybe I can become invisible.  And they won't notice me here, where I usually lay under the table hoping for messy children to drop things.  Ah man, the melting snow on my snout tickles...

Sirius, the very big, not so invisible, dog.

But the color.  The color swatch I have had taped to a cabinet for two years now, is going on the cabinets.  Which is making it all feel like progress.

I have "no idea" who put that slice into the snack cabinet plastic late last night.

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