Dining Room Table

For the past two years, our little family of seven squeezed around a tiny table.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner; laid-back Sunday night meal or Thanksgiving feast; first dinner as a large family sitting together during a weekend DHS-supervised visit or last week's rushed eating-in-shifts brunch: it didn't matter.  The hub of eating excitement in our little home consisted of four matching burnt-orange-cushioned dining chairs and three old card table chairs, an occasional inside-joke pineapple table cloth, and one small round can't-complain-cuz-it-was-free (but be sure to keep your elbows tucked into your ribs or else you'll be jabbing your neighbor every time you reach for your plate) dining table.

For two years.

This past weekend, I turned 30.  Everyone around me seemed to think turning 30 should be a difficult, somewhat heartbreaking, possibly part soul-crushing experience, but frankly it felt like any other day.  Except that my kids let me sleep extra late.  And when I ventured into the not-the-silent-comfort-of-my-bedroom area of the house, they were still alive and breathing and not tattling on each other and then showered me with cards and sweet homemade gifts.  And my husband told me several times in one day how amazing I was / am / have always been / am sure to continue to be.  (He's right, of course.)

Oh!  And, we bought a new dining room table.

At a garage sale, but does that matter?!  (Except that it's a beautiful, flawless, 8-feet-long-with-the-leaves-in table on which I did my first bargaining-at-a-yard-sale business and managed to talk the original owner down $50.  So, 30 was off to a good start because of this little table!)

Anyway, so we got a new dining room table.  The chairs actually match, though we to added a bench on one side to accommodate our little family.  The shiny new dining table makes the dining room look shiny and new too... which in turn makes the rest of the house look pretty darn awful, but I'm considering it a step in the right direction.

I digress.

Our new dining room table -- It's exciting, in our little home.  The kids sit a little taller.  They lean over the table a little more with their food & drinks (somehow our new table reminds them that we don't want more stains on the horribly-stained carpet).  They need fewer reminders to keep their elbows off the table or, you know, to eat not like a feisty (but cute!) little animal.  They say things like, "Hey, let's not argue because we're sitting at the dinner table" or "Look, Mom, did you see that I'm showing good manners at the new table?!"

But you know?  Eventually the newness will wear off.  The kids will fling manners out the window and will forget inside voices or even I-wasn't-born-in-a-barn habits, and eventually the big new exciting table will just be a big table, sitting in our dining room, where we eat our meals together.

And, when that happens... it will be okay.

Fancy or not-so-fancy, breathing room or built-for-2-but-seating-7, dining room tables are where memories are made.  We talk about our day.  We play silly games while we're eating, like "I'm going on a trip and I'm gonna bring a..." or "Guess what song I'm humming".  Little moments trigger memories of birth parents or of life before we were a family of seven -- and then I'm blessed with a small glimpse into the past, as our youngest four stumble over each other trying to describe what once happened so long ago.  We laugh until we can't breathe, or we have serious discussions about good character and conquering the lies that take over sometimes.  We learn table manners, but we also learn a little about how to treat others: be kind. forgive others, even if they elbow you in the face while grabbing the ketchup.  listen more than your speak. pass the salt & pepper together, because friends stick together - always.

Dang, new things are exciting, but it doesn't really matter where we eat.  As long as we do so together, as much as possible.

So, I guess that's what our new dining room table has reminded me:  One day, our kids will look back, and they won't remember the delicious food or in which chair they sat or what color the cushions were; instead, they'll remember the laughter, the stories, (hopefully the necessity of manners) and the knowledge that my kids were important enough for me to put everything else aside and just sit.