It’s surprisingly warm today; this Sunday of weird. I spent all morning deep cleaning my kitchen, the one that has only 3 useable square-sized countertops (the fourth square is covered in random stuff that I try to clean off, but somehow gets all cluttered again right away). The kitchen in my 1970’s box of a house is, well, awful. The room itself is pretty large, but the actual design is just ridiculous and not a great use of space AT all. I mean, the entire house has me scratching my head wondering what the architect was thinking. The entire bottom floor is literally a SQUARE.
Sometimes, you just have to eat dessert before dinner. And today was one of those days. It’s a Sunday. My homemade chili is simmering in my crock pot. My husband and daughter are outside raking leaves, as they have finally fallen to the ground; the reds, yellows and oranges covering the green, damp, autumn grass. My nonverbal Autistic Son, is snuggled under his weighted blanket, snoring peacefully. My oldest son and my youngest son, chasing each other throughout the bottom floor of our house, the sounds of little feet and giggles filling the air around me. And I’m in the kitchen,