Last Saturday I was watching a movie with Ephraim when I had a moronic thought. Well, not moronic, exactly, but definitely mindless. One of the characters in the film owned a cafe–a little homey place with coffee and pastries and things–and a brief scene showed her interacting with her customers who were there for breakfast. And before I thought about what I was about to say, it spilled out of my mouth: Oh, I’d love to have a cafe like that.
I meant it sincerely. I enjoy hospitality. I generally like serving people. I like the atmosphere of a cafe and the comfort of a cup of coffee and something sweet to eat. I like the thought of being the person that provides it.
Of course, the moronic thing about this is that I do this multiple times EVERY DAY and I don’t relish it. I don’t love it. In fact, it’s probably my biggest struggle about homemaking. All that cooking! All that standing in the kitchen! All that meal planning! All that dishwashing! If I’m going to complain about anything related to the home, it’s probably going to be related to cooking and how much I don’t really like it.