The Magic

Since we moved into our new house this past March, we haven't had all that many visitors.  But almost everyone who's come here has made a similar comment when they walked in the kitchen.

"So this is where the magic happens."

Magic?

Really??

Let's set the record straight.  What happens in my kitchen is typically far from magical.

Unless you consider magic to be me singing to myself and occasionally dancing.

And my husband hovering & pestering me in a way that only he can.

And me breaking glasses, and chipping dishes, and clattering pots & pans because I'm a giant klutz.

And the bird flying in to see what all the ruckus is about.

And me nearly mortally wounding myself on a daily basis with sharp knives and mandoline slicers that I probably shouldn't even be allowed to use.

And me dropping an entire marinade mixture of oil & vinegar down a heating vent in the floor.  (If my landlords are reading this - don't worry, that was in our old house!)

And... me making soft whole wheat pretzels that look really pretty but kinda taste like salty sandpaper.

Nope. Definitely no 'magic' happening there.