We have a new tradition in our house. Morning hooping in the kitchen.
My kitchen is the bane of my existance. It’s that boyfriend who treats you like a princess but cheats on you every weekend; it’s the job that you love but doesn’t pay shit; it’s the margarita that is so delicious you (figuratively) can’t see straight but turns you into a blubbering drunk mess who (literally) can’t see straight and can’t find her shoes.
I adore it because it has tons of cabinit space, funky green counter tops, and because cooking makes me happy. But it drives me completely insane because it’s the one and only space in the house I can’t stand not being clean and I have two kids and two dogs(at least one of whom is almost certianly requesting food at any given moment) so it is never clean.
It’s the Romeo to my Juliet. The love is real but like seven people are probably going to die before the story is over.
And now I’m rambling.
Anyway, one day the kitchen was already a hot mess when I woke up so instead of getting depressed I made my “summer of whimsy” project for the day officially telling the kitchen mess that I did. not. care. and that it could go fuck itself because I was having a first-thing-in-the-morning dance party with my little monsters instead of getting all twitchy looking at it.
Which turned into a hooping party for one.
And you know what? The mess didn’t both me so much after that, and it was a lot easier to find the motivation to clean all the things when I’d had a blast in the space already. Positive vibes and all that jazz.
So the morning hooping became a thing. After we all get up I make them some breakfast then crank up the tunes, Verona giggles and Finn dances in his high chair, and I get my hooping on while they eat. Morning hooping, making mornings and kitchen suck a little less, one rotation at a time.