I spend a lot of time at home. And as a mom with two small children, I also spend a lot of time in the kitchen. Actually, the whole family spends a lot of time in the kitchen. We eat in – three meals a day – pretty much every day. Dad reads his paper at the table. The kids do homework, draw, write, colour, bead, model play-dough…you name it. And Mom can often be found sitting at the table with a puzzle, a book or – even better – a pot of coffee and a good friend.
Our table is covered in scratches, gouges, dents and scribbles. I’m responsible for the very intricate gouging caused by pressing WAY too hard when demonstrating the brand-new spirograph to my older daughter. And Dad can lay claim to the nick at the far left end made by the saw…long story, but it involves new flooring and no work bench. The girls have practiced their alphabets, numbers and shapes at the table, with or without paper, using crayons, markers, pencils or pens. And if you haven’t already learned this lesson for yourself, keep the ball-point pens and sharpies away from little ones who can’t be trusted to stay on the paper.
Our table has seen birthday cakes, Christmas turkeys, Easter hams, Friday night pizzas and whole schools of goldfish crackers. It has hosted countless meals, snacks and kaffeklatsches – and even a scrapbooking club. It’s the first place we come to in the morning – where we join together as a family and share a meal in the oldest of rituals. It has served as the nexus of our home, and in many ways, of our family too.
If our kitchen table could talk, it would tell tales of family, camaraderie, tears, laughter, conflict and mostly, of love. Our table has borne silent witness to most of our family’s history. News of pregnancies and tales of daily life. Discussions of where to go on holidays and whether to move or not. What to eat for dinner? Where to go today? From frivolous gossip to tearful news of death, it’s all been shared over the kitchen table.
The heart of our kitchen, our home, our lives. The Kitchen Table.