My table is too big for my kitchen.
I have bruises from hitting off the corner of it as I try to get to the back door or pop something in the bin. The room feels tiny in its presence and not being able to walk around it makes me claustrophobic.
But today, I came home and found this.
This table is a hundred and five years old and has been in my family since 1910. The underside of the tabletop holds the scrawled handwriting of my great-uncle (which he scratched into it as a child) along with mine and my brothers’ when we were growing up. My mom brought it out of storage in secret and sent it to a local antique repair company with specific instructions that the underside of the table was to be left as is, so that Austin could add his mark to it when he gets a bit older. How wonderful is that?
Mom – I cannot tell you how grateful I am and how much this table means to me. It’s not just the avoidance of bruised hips and more space in my little home. It’s a physical expression of the wonderful, happy childhood that you and dad worked so hard to give to me and a gentle reminder that my family is the the most important thing in my life.
I try my absolute hardest to be as good a mom to Austin as you are to me but I doubt I will ever top your flair for the grand gesture!
Thank you from the bottom of my heart, for all of it.