TEXARKANA MAGAZINE
kitchen table were mercy and forgiveness, something the rest of the world needs a little more of. That same kitchen table saw me into adulthood. As a young mother with three stair-stepped babies, a 40-plus-hour-a-week job, and little money, I once again found myself (several times) at that table, either beating my head against it or crying my eyes out. I remember telling my grandmother how guilty I felt for leaving my children every day to go to work to take care of other people. I would tell her how I could not see a light at the end of the financial tunnel and how I was just about to break from exhaustion. Mawmaw would put a glass of tea on the table in front of me and look at me with eyes that resembled my own. She would remind me that working outside the home didn’t make me a bad mother, and the guilt I felt was just a distraction from my blessings in life because my children were healthy and happy. She’d say she had been where I was financially and that not knowing how we would make it to the next payday was where faith came into the picture. More than once, in the midst of a pity party, Pawpaw would walk into the kitchen and say, “You don’t know it yet, but the best time of your life is when all of your children are at home, and you don’t have two nickels to rub together.” It turns out he was right. That kitchen table was a place of encouragement and where the wise words shared still ring true today. When my husband and I had children of our own, we thought it was very important to eat dinner together at the table. Of course, I remember the stage when highchairs replaced their regular chairs. Then, through their childhoods, there were lots of declarations such as, “You don’t have to like what your mother cooked, but you’re at least going to try it,” from my husband. The five of us took turns praying. We taught table manners. Expectations for school were discussed, and conversations about the most random subjects were followed up with laughter. “Hey, Mom! Will my lungs explode if I stick a leaf blower in my mouth?” is a specific question I remember my boy child asking one night at dinner. I may or may not have told him to go try it and see. Being together around the table each night brought consistency to my young family. During their teenage years, it was harder to gather around the table every night for the evening meal, but my husband and I were determined to keep our tradition going. There were several times we didn’t eat until 9 pm when my teenagers finally got home from their many extra-curricular activities. That was okay. There were no phones at the table, and though dinner didn’t last long, it was the 15-20 minutes a day where we, as parents, could find out what was going on in their adolescent world. It kept the lines of communication open and our family close during a time when distractions from the outside were at their peak. Sure, there were times of devastating news shared at that table, but mostly, there was love, loyalty, and respect. Looking back, I’m convinced one of the reasons we survived parenting was because of our family time at the table. It is literally the place we raised our children. Now, when those adult children come home to visit, they don’t congregate in the living room. They naturally gather at…you guessed it, the table. The end of last year brought back a long-forgotten table that holds a very sentimental place in my memory. It’s the coffee
table that has been in my grandparent’s house for as long as I can remember. It has a round tabletop, it’s very heavy, and quite large, and it’s the place my cousins and I would retreat to when we were banned from the adult table and left to our own devices. There were Christmas cookies made on it and forks jabbed into the wood when one of the cousins would get their feathers ruffled. This coffee table also saw its fair share of crayon marks and orange juice stains. It even stood strong when my cousin, Simon, would run through the kitchen into the living room, sliding across this coffee table onto the couch. He did that impressive Dukes of Hazard slide across that tabletop until his legs got too long. I could go on and on, but let’s just say it held its own over the years and became quite a coveted piece of furniture. In fact, it was so coveted that earlier this year, my grandparents, now in their 90s, decided to give it to one of us. To be fair, they drew names out of a hat. My aunt did the honors of recording the event and texting it to the cousins. I need you to know that the only thing I’ve ever won in my 46 years was a donut for being the one-thousandth customer on the first day Krispy Kreme opened its doors in Little Rock, Arkansas. So, you can only imagine my surprise when the name drawn for the well-worn coffee table was mine! As expected, I immediately began receiving cheeky text messages from my sisters and cousins saying things like, “You better lock your doors. I’m coming for that table,” and, “Mawmaw told me that the winner of the table has to host Thanksgiving at their house.” (The hazing in this family never goes away. It’s how we show love.) Anyway, when my dad brought the coffee table to my house, he told me he could sand it and refinish it for me. I politely declined. There are lots of memories tied up in that old table. I love every scratch and every blemish. It reminds me of a childhood spent at my grandparents’ house and that no matter the imperfections acquired along the way, the foundation stands firm…just like the table. Someone once said, “To share a table is to share everything.” So, all this to say, be intentional. Take time to sit with your family at the table—talk, laugh, cry, and love. It’s time you’ll never regret spending. I’ve wondered, if the tables in my life could talk, what would they say? After all, they’ve heard a lot. I think they would tell me to pull up a chair. This life of learning around a table isn’t over yet.
Tammy Lummus is a wife and mother of three grown children and one perfect grandson. She is currently adjusting to
an empty nest while constantly on the hunt for the next good story.
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LIFE & STYLE
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