I’m looking out my kitchen window at the contents of my kitchen.
The angel food cake pan I made Rebecca’s first birthday cake in.
My grandmother’s loaf pan with that great star pattern.
The pasta maker we originally thought was the worst wedding present ever but went on to throw fabulous pasta making parties where you make your guests make their own dinner.
The rolling pin my mother in law bought for me when Ryan and I were 22.
Oh sigh. The tough part about Rebecca and I being diagnosed with celiac isn’t the food, it’s the stuff.
Scrap that, it’s the memories that go along with the stuff.
The whisk that makes pancakes, the pastry brush, oh hell the pastry knife is out there too. The cutting boards, the wooden spoon.
They are all out there on the back porch.
I’ve given away the toaster, the pizza cutter, the things I can’t clean. I’ve been cleaning for days. I vacuumed, I scrubbed, I went at the pastry pin and vintage tins with a tooth brush, I gave away a third of our pantry and I give up. There was flour along the edges of the drawers, suspicious oats under the cutlery. What’s left can just sit out there for a few weeks while I decide what pieces to salvage and what lovely new cutting boards I should treat us to.
The issue really isn’t the food, it’s all the food that’s been made in this kitchen. I cook, I love to cook, my kitchen is my happy place. I don’t mind the challenge of removing gluten from our diets. It’s actually a relief after all the things we’ve gone without while trying to unravel this puzzle. It’s the cleaning is a little much. There is flour on the edge on all my drawers from when the mixer pooffed up a fine mist and I smiled thinking it was fun. Those brownies that made a cloud of flour around the coffee maker? I think I’ve finally got it all.
I’ve stripped the cast iron of ten years worth of grilled sandwiches and weekend breakfasts. This set the oven on fire and Rebecca, being the three year old that she is decided that that was the moment to ask for a snack.
Rebecca falls asleep listing off the donuts she would like to eat. She can describe them all; fluffy donuts, sprinkles, sparkles, maybe some pink and blue ones? She says they are behind glass and asks if she can just polish it. She also says beautiful things; “I feel great!” “Wheat makes my belly hurt, I no eat wheat, I eat my own Becca snacks”. She plays a game where she’s a waitress who only serves gluten free treats; “may I have a cup of tea please?” she squeals “Here’s your tea, it’s gluten-free!”.
Slowly but surely we’re on a mend and my spring cleaning is coming to a close. My mother brought over a new pasta maker, we successfully ordered gluten free pizza, we’re headed tothe ND this afternoon for some guidance, and I think once we get a fresh coat of paint around my kitchen window we will be off to a fresh start.