I am sitting in the beautiful and spacious apartment we have rented for the month in a small village in Tuscany. As I write this, I can hear Paolo Nutini from the piazza’s only bar, I have a biscotti on the go, the boys are both asleep and the kitchen is (finally) cleaned.
I remember my grandma use to declare “kitchen’s closed!” when she was babysitting myself or my cousins and I can totally relate to that now. I’m sure I could spend the entire day within 10 square feet heating bottles, sterilizing bottles, making breakfast, clearing breakfast, fixing snacks, cleaning up snacks, making lunch, tidying up from lunch, packing snacks for the road, looking in the fridge thinking about dinner, making dinner, making a DIFFERENT dinner (peanut butter sandwich, let’s be honest) because “not THAT rice, the OTHER kind of rice,” loading the dishwasher from dinner mess, heating more bottles, sterilizing those bottles, prepping bottles for the night, taking my vitamins, having a big drink of water and shutting out the kitchen light to conk out and start again in the morning.
Reminded me of this funny article: