We lashed out and got a pantry last week. Our previous pantry was bought second-hand from the Trading Post a few days before I gave birth to Eldest Monkey Boy. It was the first and only kitchen I said I wanted to see. Needless to say I wasn't in a state to care about kitchen choices. I just wanted a kitchen before the baby was born. In fact I wanted the black plastic that was making do as the back wall and protecting our house from the elements and thieves and mice to disappear and be filled with a proper wall. And I wanted a sink where I could wash dishes - not the trough in the bathroom. And a few other things. But they weren't to be for quite a while post baby. And all that time went by in a sleep-deprived, anxiety-filled, baby-love whirlwind anyway. I didn't care much that I had to stomp my foot while breastfeeding to scare the mice away from my room. I was too exhausted.
I've never been much happy with the kitchen we hastily assembled. It is certainly ugly (which I can live with) and the doors have started drooping (which I will put up with too) but it was the pantry that finally cracked me these holidays. It had one door that opened the wrong way and scraped on the floor and the other side was completely doorless. So everyone could see my messy contents inside.
Naturally, once we made the decision to get a new one I chose something completely out of keeping with everything else in our kitchen. It is big and glossy and red and has pull out drawers with slam proof doors and a couple of wire baskets and I can't stop oohing and aahing over it. And Littlest Monkey Boy can't stop admiring himself in the reflective surface and practising his creative dance moves in front of it.
We purchased the pantry at that barn we love and hate in equal measures - Ikea. Whenever we are on our way to visit Ikea I warn Monkey Man that we will have a fight. And we do. When I was single I hated to visit Ikea because I was blinded by the happy couples hand in hand furnishing their love nests. And I was filled with envy at everyone else who certainly had a much happier life than poor, lonely, single old me! I didn't notice them bickering and hissing at each other and their measuring tapes after they'd followed the yellow line to the next floor.
The trick with Ikea I've realised is to know what you're getting beforehand and to head straight for it. Then follow the yellow arrows directly to the loading spot. Do not get side-tracked by all the other stuff. 'Cos you could get lost and spend hours in there and you will surely have a fight with your partner. And if you don't have it by the time you get to the lighting department (that's where we had ours this time) you will surely have it as you attempt to find and heave the packages onto the trolley and then queue for fifteen minutes to pay. Ikea should offer couples counselling along with their delivery service. Actually not just couples-counselling, also counselling for singles who are traumatised by all the in-your-face seemingly happy couples.
Anyway, it is a wee bit glossy and red compared to everything else but we might
just be able to get away with the juxtaposition when Monkey Man has
finished making a kitchen bench from re-cycled backyard timber. It took us three days to put together and the handles have been screwed on wonky, but I am sure that my cooking life is going to be heavenly from henceforth. Now I can see just how many lentils I have. But only when I open the door.