Being home, being kitchen-y

We seem to have lost our camera. Our trusty Kodak Easy Share. The one we had to exchange twice because the first two were duds.

The one I was going to exchange on my way home from my midwife appointment, but got sidetracked by having a baby instead.

Oh, that camera. It actually doesn't take very good photos, and yet I miss it. It has followed Noah through his first year of life. And right now, I would love to have it to make a video of him walking to share with you all.

Yet the camera vanished during a most lovely occasion (so I can't begrudge it entirely): our three-week trip to Ontario!

We Marched for Life, prayed before Our Lady of Combermere, ate my sister's ridiculously good baking, celebrated my nephew's birthday, saw friends, a new calf and chicks, got scorched in the hot hot Toronto sun, connected (and re-connected) with Catholic families we admire, and enjoyed the company of people we love and miss.

I loved every minute of it.

Yet it is so good to be home.

I didn't think I would miss it as much as did, but amazingly, I longed to be in my kitchen. Just standing there this past week has given me such peace. The repetitive, meditative act of washing dishes, of wiping down our table, of stirring a simmering sauce. The joyful giggles of my toddler exploring cupboards and playing with his broom. The quiet surrender of the day when Patrick is off studying, Noah is happily sleeping, and I am wiping the stove down one more time before retiring.

I never would have thought that the kitchen was my favourite room, but staying in another person's home for three weeks proved it to me. While every meal we ate was wonderful, I missed being the one cooking. It's really the thread that ties together the order of our days. There is nothing quite like the satisfaction I feel that even if the laundry is piling up, the carpet needs vacuuming, the beds are unmade, at least we are well fed.

{I really wish my camera was around to include one picture for you: my second attempt at homemade pasta. A success, I'd say. We had bought some local grass-fed ground beef from the Farmer's Market on special, and I decided that using such nice meat to make a tomato sauce warranted better spaghetti than store-bought. I was really pleased with the results. So were Patrick, his sister who joined us for supper on Saturday, AND Noah. Even though Baby loves all things noodle, he rarely finishes more than a few tablespoons. Until now. He polished off his bowl-ful and licked his lips appreciatively. Atta boy.