I haven’t written in a bit but I have a good reason. I was in food shock. It started a few weeks ago. We decided- I should say I decided to replace our cracked kitchen tile and countertops. My husband gave me the “is this really necessary?” line.  The truth is that his kitchen experience amounts to occasional coffee making, gluten free beer opening and table clearing when he’s in a helpful mood. I could’ve wasted my time pointing out that the kitchen to me was the equivalent of the golf course for him but I had a more productive idea. I selected the countertop material  (Caesar stone) and flooring (light wood planks). I presented my husband with two samples of each that were basically the same so he could “choose” and put him in touch with the kitchen guy. Our division of labor for any renovation is design- me and construction- him. This proved to be a mistake.
Two weeks ago today, the boys had started spring break and I was enjoying not having to be out of the house at 7:30AM. The doorbell rang and I answered it in my pajamas. There were five men with tools standing outside with the head honcho kitchen guy. I had been told the kitchen work would be done while we were away. As I stood in the doorway, Marc emerged freshly showered and smiled at the guys “that’s great that you’re getting an early start.” And the unraveling began. I guarantee these nice men will tell the story of the crazy upper west side lady for years to come.
“You told me this was happening when we were away”
  He said
“I thought it was a good idea for them to start before we left in case there were questions.”
While that’s totally logical in retrospect I said
“It’s a good idea for you but what about me, I am supposed to eat days of take-out food right before a vacation?”
And he said
“I think having a new kitchen is worth a few days of non-organic food.”
It went downhill from there and I decided to go get dressed and calm down.
When I came downstairs, four men were carrying my fridge into the dining room.
The fridge was unplugged. The fridge with a freezer full of grass fed meat and wild salmon, the fridge with my kombuchas and organic berries.
And while I now know I must’ve sounded like a spoiled baby, I freaked.  Mid fit the kitchen guy plugged the fridge into a dining room outlet. The light went back on and I started to breathe.
I will never admit this to my husband but I kind of liked running out to Juice Generation to get smoothies breakfast for all of us and a few newspapers. Having no kitchen meant no pillaging for dark chocolate. And we plugged the coffee maker in the home office and it was fine.

This past Friday, the men were putting the kitchen sink in and the kitchen guy said “was it worth it?” and, with my tail between my legs, I apologized knowing that nothing I cold say would erase my crazy. It was totally worth it.  The problem is that now I don’t want to cook and mess any of the newness up.

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