My kitchen table is not new, shiny, high priced, fancy, or pretty. It’s functional. It’s got a layer of food perpetually stuck to it. It’s got chips, dings, knicks, scratches, and gouges. My kitchen table has silver permanent marker stains, paint stains, and it wobbles slightly. It has a weird bubbling/peeling thing happening from an iron mishap, and it’s missing two chairs.
But my imperfect, ugly, mixed match kitchen table is where my kids drew me a beautiful picture. It’s where my family decorates our Christmas cookies. That kitchen table is where my husband and I ate our first Christmas dinner as a married couple. My table is where my family eats all our meals at. That table is where we have celebrated every birthday, holiday, dinner, crafts project, card game, and morning coffee.
It has been painted, repainted, and then repainted again. It has been threatened to be put in the garbage… and yet here it still stands.
My dinged up kitchen table has four dinged up mixed matched imperfect chairs that seat each member of my beautiful family. That awful eyesore of a table is a caricature of my family. Each chip, ding, knick, scratch, gouge, marker stain, paint stain, wobble, bubble, a missing chair are a beautiful memory of times well spent.
So, when you come to my house and see my blue and black hodge podged table, know that this piece of furniture has been the center of dreams, goals, family, love, and memories. It has seen the world, it has seen two young, inexperienced, naive people become three-then four. It has seen two young people become adults, it has seen sadness, joy, anger, and everything in between.
No. My table is not new, expensive, or shiny. It’s the cheapest table we could find at Walmart when my husband and I were 21 years old, in our first year of marriage, living in an apartment with only our dreams carrying us. That table is the most priceless thing we have in this house… and it is so ugly…