In a post from about a year ago, I wrote that not all of us can be like Joanna Gaines and have a farmhouse-style kitchen table hand-crafted by a man named Clint.
Then, what do you know, Christmas rolled around and I ended up with a handmade, farmhouse-style kitchen table. It was crafted by a man named Thomas, not Clint, and it is beautiful.
And yes, that is the only item in my house that even slightly resembles anything Joanna Gaines would partially consider placing in her immaculate home with no TVs.
So why did I end up with this beautiful table?
I was never a huge fan of the old table we had. My husband had it when we got married. The table wasn’t really big enough for us to fit food and plates on, so it had turned into more of a catch-all. As in, we don’t have a mudroom, so throw all your shit on the table. There was a large basket full of mail and magazines, matchbox cars, random odd socks, artwork from preschool, that one important thing I couldn’t forget, and a paint-by-number I had received for Christmas in 2016 that remained unopened because who has time to paint 75,000 teeny-tiny areas when they have a newborn and a three year old.
Disclaimer: I would love to actually finish the paint-by-number and have completed about 42% of it in ten minute increments over the last year and a half. I had to buy new paint for it because the old paint had dried out. My husband joked that when I finish it in 2024, we will have to hang it somewhere. I then vowed to have it done by the end of 2018 because I love a good challenge. Wish me luck people.
Anywho, I had dreams of my family sitting around this large, gorgeous table, eating a home cooked meal and talking about all the wonderful things that happened during our days. We would laugh and the kids would eat their vegetables and our 75-pound dog, Newman, would sit quietly to one side without begging or trying to steal food from the baby’s plate. He wouldn’t have saliva dripping down his jowls and lick his lips loudly as we ate our salads, grilled chicken, vegetables, mashed potatoes and homemade rolls.
I first saw the table online and it was gifted to us from Logan’s parents as our Christmas present. And we were overjoyed. The table was solid and sturdy with a bench on each side. It was like something out of a freaking Pottery Barn catalog. Every time I looked at it, I beamed with pride. I decided that I would have to find the perfect centerpiece. Something that would make Joanna Gaines proud.
I then fell into what I describe as the “Holiday Hangover.” This is the week long period after Christmas and before you actually have to go back to work and work again. You know, the days when you don’t know what day of the week it is. You stare at your Christmas tree, wishing it would take itself down. You nap because all you have done for the last two months is eat turkey and pie and drink wine. The house is a complete and total disaster and the children have made it to step three of their total home domination plan.
In the midst of my Holiday Hangover, my beautiful table started to accumulate items. At first it was just the Christmas presents we brought inside from the garage that had come from the grandparents. That meant about 58.4 boxes of toys that made noise and books about talking animals in precarious situations.
Then the mail started being put there because we always put the mail on the table and where else was it supposed to go? I tried keeping it in the mailbox for about a week or so but the mailman got a little annoyed of trying to stuff more mail in each day.
About two weeks later, I realized that we had gotten a bigger kitchen table so that we could have a larger place for all of our crap. That’s where my purse belongs, along with my partially painted paint-by-number. There are action figures, the diaper bag, mail, magazines, Newman’s leash, about 17 pairs of shoes on one of the benches, two or three water bottles and Henry’s shin guards for soccer. Among other extremely unimportant things.
So yes, I have a beautiful, hand-crafted farmhouse table in my kitchen that is currently being used as storage space. Joanna would not approve and talk me into getting one of those hall trees that I no longer have space for because I have such a large, beautiful kitchen table.
But that is life. And one day, when my kids are grown and out of the house, I will probably clean off the kitchen table. But I really don’t want that day to come. Why is that? Because my babies would be gone and I would be missing them so much. And also because I would have to find another place to put all my crap.
Until Next Time,