Our kitchen is a little rabbit hole, or perhaps more appropriately, the entrance to a rabbit hole, tucked away below ground in the basement. It is hidden at the bottom of a flight of pokey stairs, indirectly lit by a skylight; at 70 square feet, there is neither room for a table nor for chairs. When there's more than two grown-ups down there at a time, we dance inelegantly around cupboard doors. It's cosy. Add three little ones into the mix, and our dance is more of a bump as small people weave between our legs. Our slim fridge with its barely-there freezer compartment squeezes into an alcove - perfect for the food shop of a young couple, perhaps. Not quite what you'd expect for a growing family of five with very hungry children.
I have dreams of a large, light filled kitchen full of windows, perhaps overlooking a garden or a sun room. There'd be a big table and a bench where the kids could do homework or paint or drink milk after school. In these dreams though, it's not more storage space I'm hankering after (the idea of more space, more storage and more things makes me itch); it's mostly just the light I dream of, and the room for us all to move and flow comfortably enough in the same space at the same time. Oh, but I've seen these kitchens! I tell myself we'll have one, one day.
Meanwhile, I don't hate my kitchen either (for what would be the point in that?). She is petite, but she is neat and she is all we have. On the best of days, we high-five and we tell each other we don't need a bigger place at all. This is how we make it work and how perhaps you can too, if you face the same challenges of small dimensions too.