As a kid, some of my favorite memories consist of my mom in the kitchen baking, cooking and always whipping something up. Even now, as an adult, there is something comforting in just watching her do her magic and where she seems so very comfortable. In the past few years I finally have a grasp of why so many hours were spent laboring over what I perceived to be limited to breakfast, lunch, dinner and deserts.
The funny thing is, I get it now. I was blessed with years of meals around the table catching up on the days happenings, laughing with a big bowl of popcorn in front of the tv and the precious moments of sipping hot chocolate after an afternoon of sledding with my sisters.
At thirty six years old I find myself mimicking all those things I never really understood until now. It is in my own kitchen that I spend most of my time when home. It isn't out of obligation. It isn't out of necessity. I find a sense of joy and fulfillment that words can't do justice. To have the opportunity to pass on the comforts, memories and beauty connected with my own kitchen is pretty awesome. The pancakes, hot chocolate and brownies will keep rolling out of the Patterson compound for years to come and with it my hope that all the goodness will be attached.
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