CHAPTER 4

Home

When my husband, Steve, and I were house shopping several years ago, as soon as we drove up the driveway and walked into what is now our house, we knew this would be home. Everything about it was perfect—except the tiny little kitchen. For someone who loves to cook, it was quite the cramped space. We put that tiny little kitchen to big use for a long time but always dreamed of expanding it someday. Steve, who is a gifted carpenter, even drew up specific plans early on for how our dream kitchen would be laid out.

Well, a little song about a boat brought life to that dream: after “Pontoon” hit, we embarked on a big remodel. Our dream kitchen became a reality, and it is just that—the kitchen I’d dreamed of since I was a teenager. Steve’s floor plan was brilliant, and it looks like it was always there as it is now. As most remodels go, ours took longer than we had anticipated. When the day finally came to move in, I happened to be home alone. Daisy and Steve had gone to visit family. I spent nine hours all by myself that day unpacking with happy tears just a flowin’. I pretty much had church up in there! I was praising the Lord for my new little piece of heaven. I still do that—and often. It really means so much to me.

Our kitchen is the heart and soul of our home. It’s where we gather. It’s cozy and warm . . . and it usually smells yummy. Sometimes it’s perfectly neat (I can be a neat freak), and sometimes—especially when Daisy and I cut loose—it’s a beautiful disaster. It’s not my natural tendency to just let the sugar and flour fly, but I’ve learned to let go of some of my quirkiness about being neat, because the memories are always worth the extra cleanup. I wouldn’t trade one single flour-y nose for a spotless kitchen.