The snowstorm in the Midwest dropped over a foot of snow, but didn’t stop Daniel from getting back to California. We drive home from San Francisco tonight, and his friends are in our kitchen before he’s even unloaded his bags from the car. And although Daniel thinks I overfeed everyone (is there any Jewish mother who doesn’t?) I bake brownies for his friends which they eat while sitting around our kitchen counter. For me, this is as good as it gets.
I imagined this scene in my mind before I even had children. Before I even wanted to have children.
In the home of my fantasies, the only room I ever imagined was the kitchen. Which is odd in itself since I don’t even like to cook. But I like to eat—and the kitchen was always the center of my dream house. My mental picture of this scene was very vivid—-of course it was cluttered, but it was also colorful and cozy. All the friends of my future kids would love to come and gather around because it felt so warm and inviting; and I was a combination of Mother Nature and June Cleaver.
Over the years I lived in various apartments and homes, and they all had kitchens, but the kitchen scene of my fantasies never quite materialized. I used to think if I had been a better cook, it might have helped. But then I just assumed that like other dreams, my dream kitchen was a fairy tale.
Alli had already left home and Daniel was in high school by the time V and I moved into this house. It turned out to be the right house at the right time. This is the first place I’ve ever lived that I’ve truly loved.
Tonight, surrounded by Daniel and his childhood friends who have morphed into men, I realize these simple moments are the most precious of all. This is home. And although our kitchen doesn’t look like the kitchen of my fantasies, it really is.
By the way I ended up a lot more like Mother Nature than June Cleaver.