My kitchen table is ugly. It really is. It looks more like a craft table, paint stains, burn marks from the glue gun etc. It’s also ridiculously small. Fits 4 people comfortably, but we manage to have up to 8 around it fairly regularly. It is by far the ugliest thing in our house. Sexy Husband and I bought it when we first were married. I think it may have been our first “big” purchase. Ugly ugly, very ugly.
It is, however, my favorite place in the house. Life happens at this (ugly) table. It’s a place where:
I’ve taught my child to print her name.
We’ve created beautiful masterpieces of crayon and fingerpaint.
We’ve enjoyed beautiful meals.
My friends have come and laughed until they’ve cried and cried until they’ve laughed.
Bottles of wine have led to long late night discussions.
Deep fears and secrets have been expressed and then shared.
Wedding cakes have been made.
Businesses have been started.
Recipes have been created.
Life changing announcements have been offered.
Dreams have been dreamed.
It’s a safe place. A happy place. A place where we sat for many hours studying when it was just Sexy Husband and university degrees. A place where we laughed for hours when IronSister moved in with us in Victoria. A place where our first baby used to lie on a sheepskin and watch us eat. A place where our second baby sits to discover the joys of blueberries and spaghetti squash.
Everyone who matters to me, my richest treasures are invited to this table. Come for coffee. Come for a meal. Come for dessert. Come for the conversation.
Welcome to our sanctuary. (just don’t mind that’s it’s ugly)