I like to come home to a house that smells good. Like fresh air and something baking. Or onions cooking in butter - that's really one of the best smells there is, if you ask me.Good smells don't always happen in my house. As often as not, I walk through the kitchen door and I smell the trash that really needs to go out, or the fruit on the counter that has started to turn, or the compost that should have gone outside yesterday, or the tired smell of stale laundry.
But today my house smelled good. I bought raspberries at the farmers market and made muffins. I made soup for supper and left it on the stove before taking the kids to soccer practice, so when we got home it smelled like something fresh baking and cooked tomatoes. It was nice.
This evening my house smells vaguely like something burning. Stuart has taken to roasting coffee in the basement. Sometimes this sets off the smoke alarm, sometimes it's doesn't. Tonight, it did. Poor Daniel had just gotten to sleep when the vile beeping woke him right back up. Not to worry, we assured him. It's just dad roasting coffee again. Everything's all right. And everything is all right, a little smoky, but all right.