My kitchen hates me. And really, I hate it right back. It's cramped, I have zero counter space, the walls are white but the ceiling is beige (we never got around to painting the ceiling, but seriously? Who does that, paint a ceiling beige), the stove is possessed and the fridge has a serious attitude problem.
Dear Refrigerator, You and I are not friends. Yes, you do your job marginally well, but you have no people skills. I will not mourn your loss when you quit.
The freezer is tiny and has no shelves so it regularly spills frozen projectiles out onto the floor, my foot, a curious toddler's head. The fridge is not any better. The bottom shelf that holds the one drawer regularly collapses on me, forcing me to rearrange the whole bottom half of the fridge. So, I've given up. Yes, fridge, you win. I will put nothing in the drawer losing a quarter of the space. It's like a four year old with a really tiny bladder. Yeah, you know, THAT kid. Oh and if anything is pushed too far back in the fridge, it freezes.
My stove? Burns thing. I swear. It's not the chef. For years I burnt cookies. I was able to cook other stuff but cookies? Hockey pucks. I got fed up and bought a thermometer for the oven. It's 75 degrees hotter than the dial says it is. So, the usual 350F? Actually 425F. I'm on to you, Stove. I have your number.
In the past three weeks I've had to mop up a dozen eggs, a full bottle of Pam cooking spray (frothy oily projectile), a liter of milk, a bottle of formula, Alex spilled an entire bag of Corn Pops on the floor, I dropped an entire meal on the floor and burnt another. I was making a cake for a friend's baby shower and as I popped the cake out of the pan, it broke in half. Alex quickly grabbed large chunks of cake and shoved them in his mouth. Well, at least the cake tasted good. The second batch burned (see above). The only counter space I have that is out of range of grabby little hands is not counter space at all. It's my stove. I have very bad kitchen juju. Even the Buddist chanting my sister suggested hasn't helped (Nam myoho renge kyo if anyone wants to help me out and chant to the universe for me to have a nicer kitchen).
My cupboards start above my head. I can reach everything on the first of four shelves. I have to use a step ladder to get anything other than peanut butter or cereal out. Oh and have I mentioned that Alex can climb stairs? Like stairs in the form of a step ladder? He either climbs up behind me, or even worse, he uses it LIKE A WALKER and walks away while I'm standing on the counter.
Seriously? Those shiny, nicely painted, cupboards that close, sexy tiled, massive counterspaced kitchens with dish washers and shiny stainless steel appliances that I see in magazines or on the Ikea showroom floors? That's hot.