The Kitchen Table

My kitchen table is so gross, I have to confess... It was given to us by a retired couple so it had already lived a full life before coming into our lives. And now it has to suffer through three school-aged kids with less than stellar manners. Fortunately, it has some sort of impenetrable faux wood laminate type top to it that can survive any craft project and even a day of Henry and Grace playing Nail Salon. Unfortunately, it also has deep decorative grooves on the side that are perfect nesting places for odd bits of food and other kiddy secretions I don't even want to think about (I grew up with two older brothers, I know a thing or two about little boys schmearing things in cracks and crevices - ew - yep, best not to think about it).

It's also a little unsteady because two of its legs are wobbly and we are constantly yanking on them to get them back to a ninety degree angle. Several weeks ago, my Dad came over when one of the legs was skewed at more of a forty-five degree angle which of course, concerned him to no end. I let him know that I had no real attachment to this table and have in fact been looking forward to the day when my kids learn how to use a napkin and eat over their plates so I can burn the thing or demote it to a laundry folding table in the basement and replace it with a respectable kitchen table. But he continued to fuss over it and kept calling to see when he could come over to fix it. Really? In the grand scheme of things, my gross kitchen table is pretty low on my list of priorities right now. But he was pretty persistent and showed up a few days later with some brackets and screws.

He came over just before bedtime and worked quietly on the side as the kids and I bustled around getting pajamaed, teeth brushed, and tucked in for the night. After he finished he was lingering in the doorway a little as if he wasn't quite sure his job was done, and our eyes met for a moment as he laid a hand on my shoulder and said, "All right." And all of a sudden I understood him. He can't fix my life, but he can fix my table. It was his way of doing something, when there's nothing to be done but weather the storm. It was his way of saying I'm here for you and I love you. And even though he's spoken that so many times to me, there was something so tender and caring and unspoken in the act of fixing my kitchen table. And I felt loved.

So now I smile when I see these bright silver brackets that really don't help out the gross kitchen table in an aesthetic sense... but they just may have saved the table's life by increasing it's sentimental value ten-fold.

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