Debra Pickett

R. and I had a fun, busy weekend -- an Improv Fest performance on Friday night and a fundraising gala dinner on Saturday -- but the actual highlight for me involved spending hours and hours arranging things as I put them away in the fabulous new kitchen cabinets.

R. had, quite helpfully, already taken our stuff out of the boxes where we'd stashed it. And he'd put most of the stuff into the cabinets.

I never quite know whether it's OK for me to re-do household stuff that R. has done. Is it, for example, utterly self-defeating to re-fold the laundry that he's folded because, well, his folding technique leaves something to be desired? I tell myself that I'm still saving labor by doing this, since, if I smooth it out into sharper folds now, it won't have to be ironed later. But the truth of the matter is that I haven't actually ironed anything in years. And wearing wrinkled stuff doesn't seem to bother him. So, I'm really just doing it because I have some sort of weird control-freak need to have all his t-shirts in neat, even piles in their drawer. (Perhaps I could say that seeing them this way makes me feel like I'm being a good wife. But I've been obsessive about storing clothes in an orderly manner for much longer than I've been a wife.)

So I was acutely aware that if I pulled stuff out of the cabinets, where he'd already put things away, I'd be sending the message that he shouldn't ever bother with such efforts. And I don't want to send that message. Right?

I was just going to re-organize a couple of small things. Like I thought the waffle maker and its extra parts should be in the same cabinet.

But once I started, I couldn't stop.

I couldn't leave the glasses (stored in a glass-front cabinet) in an unsymmetrical arrangement. I wanted the mugs, cups and saucers, tea pots and canisters of tea to all be kept in one hot beverage-themed cabinet. And, naturally, the two different sushi sets we received as wedding gifts had to be shelved together. All the Corningware had to be in one cabinet. All the Pyrex bakeware belonged in another.

And don't get me started on how I arranged the food in the fridge and pantry so that each item is clearly visible.

Yes, I know that there are serial killers who are less anal than this.

And also that the incredible, utterly materialistic glee I take in arranging all these personal posessions is a fine example of consumerist excess.

But, damn, our kitchen is awesome.

We picked out the oak-and-glass cabinets at Ikea, the coffee-colored quartz stone countertop, the white cast iron sink and appliances, the buttery yellow paint and the brushed nickel accessories all at different places and hadn't seen everything all together until the room was actually finished. And, to my great surprise and relief, it all seems to go together and look like we planned it.

There are only two tiny downsides that I can see. First, there is now, officially, no excuse not to cook. And, second, one of the light fixtures (which R. bought on an excursion to Home Depot with our handyman) is really pretty awful.

It's not that the light (a sort of track light thing, with three small bright blue glass lamps hanging from it) is ugly. It's just that it's too blue and too modern to really go with the rest of the room. But, I thought, as I stashed some of R.'s souvenir fraternity cocktail glasses into an inaccesible (non-glass-front) cabinet above the stove, maybe he should get to have the lamp he wants.

And I should learn to live with it. But not, you know, love it.