Our kitchen is the heart of our home.
It is where we come together as a family twice a day (well, we're all there in body at breakfast time if nothing else...) and share a meal, and at dinner time we share stories of our day while we eat together.
Our kitchen sees friends sit together at the table and share some tea and sympathy, and probably a cake or two - or four. It has birthday candles blown out in it, cookies baked in it, morning coffee guzzled in it. Homework completed on the table, Christmas meals slaved over at the oven, has grass and bits of garden trampsed through it preparing for Summer BBQs... It definitely sees its fair share of the action in our house, which includes some mighty mishaps, like the time in 2005 when Alicia made toast...
One morning, when I was pregnant with Harrison, Alicia came skipping in to the living room from the kitchen, full of the joys, to tell me she is making herself some toast so I don't have to do it for her.
Then I smell the smoke.
I run - or, at least hurry, let's be honest - to the kitchen and see the flames flicking out of the top of the toaster. My hand shoots out and flicks the switch on the wall, I pick up Logan and haul the other two out of the front door by their collars and grab the phone on the way. Outside, I call my Dad who luckily only lives around the corner, and he comes to my rescue, running in like a movie hero, and he emerges from the smoke filled doorway (Stars In Their Eyes, anyone? Tonight Matthew, I'm going to be... stopping my daughter's house from burning down! *thunderous applause*) with the offending, and somewhat blackened, toaster.
RIP, you served us well brave little toaster.
Alicia had put the same two slices of bread down for toasting about four times I later discovered, because 'it wasn't brown enough'. By the time she had finished I think we can safely say, it was definitely 'brown enough'.
It reminded me of my Nan and her kitchen adventures when I was growing up. Our grandparents lived in a bungalow next door to our house, and on more than one occasion we were made late for school by the Fire Brigade blocking our driveway after being called out to 'give Nan a hand in the kitchen'. Though I hasten to add, it's not as bad as it sounds, our Nan was an amazing cook and baker and spent hours with me and my sisters and our mum baking delicious cakes and biscuits, and it is because of her that we have all carried on doing so in to adulthood, and with our own children.
What good is a heart without a little fire in it?! Nan would be proud, I think of my smoke alarm going off as Nan's approval for a job well done. Er, make that very well done...
*This post is my entry for Foodies 100 Morphy Richards Innovators*