A Childhood Kitchen

    When I was about five years old, my family (Me, my mom, my dad, and my younger sister) lived in a small trailer on the top of a hill, in the middle of nowhere. Because the trailer was so small, the kitchen was presumably tiny. It was decked out in some really old-looking wallpaper that had pictures of flour and sugar sacks, wooden spoons, and wheat all over it. The laminate counter-tops were well above both mine and my little sister's head. There was also a tiny island in the middle of the kitchen where the gas burners were and the stove was across from all of this. 
     My sister and I would absolutely love sitting on the counters while our mother was cooking or baking. She would measure things out and let us pour them into the other ingredients. I loved licking batters out the bowls after and off spoons whenever we finished a recipe. My younger sister liked eating the raw ingredients; her favorite being the butter. My mother tired not to allow that, but she couldn't catcher her dipping her finger in the sticks of butter every time. Though that kitchen was beyond tacky, it holds a lot of really great memories for me and my family.