Category Archives: cooking

Are You There June? It’s Me, Mikkimoto

June 23, 2011

My entire adult life I’ve been a very independent woman. I embraced the, “I Am Woman Hear Me Roar” slogan with full force. Especially when I had it tattooed on my chest.

I never liked to cook (“take-out” was cooking and making cereal was gourmet), I hated laundry with passion (have been known to buy new clothing instead of washing the dirty stuff) and I often looked at my toilet bowl and thought, “Eh, the next flush will get rid of that.”

Being a cooking/cleaning housewife was a dirty word.

That was until a ring was put on my finger and a house was bought. And now? As cliche as it is, June Cleaver’s spirit has inhabited my body like Patrick Swayze took over Whoopi Goldberg.

There have been times while unloading the dishwasher I’ve caught myself whistling. This is disgusting and unacceptable behavior for a woman who used to use the dishwasher as a kitchen cabinet.

I do laundry and actually FOLD IT THE SAME DAY! I have actually kept up with the laundry and therefore found clothes I didn’t know I had. Gone are the days of neighborhood children coming over to climb the Mikkimoto Dirty Clothes Mountain. Sorry kids.

I cook in our new beautiful kitchen with all our wedding gifts and I feel something weird. A warmth in my stomach, (no, I don’t have to poop) I feel… HAPPINESS! I LIKE TO COOK! FOOD! FOR MY FAMILY! WHO EATS IT! ALL OF IT!

The other night Matt and Ben were at a Brewer’s game so I had the entire evening to myself. Did I spend that time at happy hour with a friend? Nope. Did I lay on the couch for hours watching a “Tori & Dean sTORIbook wedding” marathon while playing “Words With Friends”? Sadly no. Did I go to the grocery store with coupons in hand and come home to make a Pioneer Woman recipe for dinner the next night that took me two hours and then cleaned the entire kitchen afterwards? YES! I DID! AND I ENJOYED IT!

WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO ME!?

I need a Housewife Intervention.

The nauseating truth is… I’m not sure when I’ve been happier. Things right now are just good. Even Ben said the other day, “Life is good right now, isn’t it?”

I LOVE my house. Every inch. It’s fun to empty the dishwasher because everything has a place. Not to mention it’s all new wedding presents.  “Hi cutie spatula.  You go here.  Remember?  Say hi to Mr. Spoon…”

I love finding new recipes, cooking and then watching Matt and Ben clean their plates. It’s is better than finding the cutest sandals in my size 75% off.  Well maybe not better than that but it’s really good shit.

So if I am turning into a foul mouthed (some habits die hard) June Cleaver, so be it.

However, if I start wearing pearls and aprons while saying things like, “That’s no way to talk, this is Sunday” or “Now [Ben], I want you to go in the living room and pick up those orange peels that you left on the coffee table. If your father comes home and sees them he’ll be in a terrible mood all through dinner.”, then all bets are off and send help immediately.

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cooking, laundry, luckiest girl in the world, married life

yet another reason for take-out

November 16, 2009

Before Matt came along our small but cute kitchen was mostly used for storage of my purse, wine and the coffee maker.  It’s not that I don’t enjoy cooking, I do!  But it’s not very fun to cook for a kid who’s main diet consists of peanut butter on a bagel, yogurt, hot dogs and if we were getting really “Top Chef ” chicken nuggets with frozen corn. 

So when Matt graciously entered my life, the June Cleaver gene kicked in hardcore.  Now I’m that woman who has her little list at the grocery store, getting all the ingredients for the week’s family meals (please read that sentence in Sarah Palin’s voice).  I do love it.  Until I actually have to cook the meal… in my kitchen.

dinner party 006

As you can see, I don’t have the biggest kitchen (and it’s not normally this messy.  This was after a dinner party with lots of wine wherein I thought, “Dude! Check out this mess.  Totally taking a picture!”)  What’s worse is that this kitchen is in the middle of the apartment.  Not even close to a window or any other major ventilation.  Sure there is a fan over the stove but it’s more like a hint of a fan with the air pressure of a heavy breather.  

The other thing in my small enclosed kitchen?  The downstairs smoke alarm.  Because that’s a great spot for it. 

Again, before Matt, I never noticed it because as luck should have it, not much smoke is created while making Frosted Flakes.  But cooking that man of mine up some sausage in the morning?  Woo boy! 

“BLLLLLEEEEEEPPPPP!”

This piece of fire prevention is not subtle.  It’s fog horn loud.  It’s F-16 jet loud.  It’s Fran Drescher loud.  Not only that but it’s as sensitive as a 14 year old girl with PMS having a bad hair day.  You just think a hot thought and it goes off.  This smoke alarm is VERY dedicated to it’s work. No fires are going on under it’s watch!

Which is endearing but really?  Taking something out of the oven?  “BLLLLEEEEPPPPP!”  Making rice on the stove?  “BLLLLEEEEGGGGHHH!”  God forbid you flip those pancakes! “BLLLLLAAAAAOOOOOWWWW!” 

Sunday morning I was making TOAST.  Not over an open flame.  IN THE TOASTER!   Matt walked in the kitchen and “BLLLEEEEEEEPPPPP!”  Since I hadn’t yet had enough coffee and apparently I’m still in denial about the power of The Alarm, I yelled “Why did you set that off?”  Poor Matt looked at me like I just grew another nose.  “I didn’t.  I walked in and it went off.”

So now, Mr Alarm thinks body heat plus one small appliance equals grave danger.

Enough is enough.  My ears hurt and my heart can’t take much more.  I really need to have a sit down with my Protector On The Wall and let him know the difference between smoke and steam. 

Because as long as Matt is around, and thankfully he’s not going anywhere for a long long time, I’ll be in my little nook cookin’ away.

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cooking, don't mind me i just write here, The B.F.