The Swedish Chef. No question.

I walk into the kitchen to make dinner. Six hours later I’ve made bread, cookies, dinner, a snack, started another loaf, and saved four more recipes for tomorrow. My ADHD is running the show. “Oooo…let’s make this too.” My OCD is in the background saying, “Cool. Wash that bowl before you touch anything else.”
Rumple and Barley are on crumb patrol. Bee is following me around yelling, “Eat?” Every burner is on. Every timer is beeping. There’s flour on the floor, butter on my shirt, and I’m pretty sure I used every measuring spoon I own. Halfway through I decide the recipe is just a suggestion anyway. Sometimes I’m a genius. Sometimes I’m ordering pizza.
I’ll still dance in my kitchen, record a reel, edit, sing with my daughter and see who can make a bigger mess while we build memories together.
Leave a comment