It never stood a chance. 

We recently renovated our kitchen and the last piece was the kitchen table. 

The old kitchen table was a giant, dark brown behemoth that served us well.

Many family meals were enjoyed there. Christmas breakfasts, Easter dinners, and birthday cakes came and went. 

But, being married to an artist, our table also saw many uncommon activities occur on its smooth surface. So many that all of the family meals and milestone celebrations paled in comparison. These activities moved the kitchen table away from its traditional definition and more toward an art studio extension. 

I’ve shared about the mixed media minis and the tiny paint specks that drove me nuts, many of which were still there when we gifted the table to one of my wife’s longtime friends. 

Apparently, her friend didn’t care about the specks. Or, like me, she was unobservant and didn’t notice them. I’m sure you can figure out which.

Apparently, her friend didn’t care about the specks. Or, like me, she was unobservant and didn’t notice them. I’m sure you can figure out which. 

Regardless, the old table was out. 

And the new table? Well, I remember the day we purchased it like it happened yesterday. 

It was a spring day in our western Canadian prairie suburb. We piled into her SUV with our 8-year-old daughter, leaving our 11-year-old son — who was completely uninterested in driving around to furniture stores with mom, dad, and sis — at home. 

Thanks to the University of Google, we had pre-scouted various tables but wanted to see our top picks in person before spending the enormous piles of money it would cost to bring one home. 

Long story made short: Our top choice was even better in person.

After bringing it home, I painstakingly put it together after everyone was in bed that night. 

As I did so, I reflected on some of the memories of the previous table.

The sentimental flashback video montage music was still playing in my mind when, all of a sudden, the all-too-familiar screeching needle ripped across the vinyl record immediately halting the parade of my cherished memories. 

Instantly, my mind was flooded with thoughts of the weeklong messes, the piles of weird art stuff for her next piece, and the clutter brought by either my artist wife or our daughter that our new table — this precious new table I was currently bringing to life — would surely endure. 

At the thought, I nearly took apart the half-built table right then and there. Putting it back in the box would surely save it from becoming another art studio extension. 

Despite this, eventually I finished putting it together because, when you’re married to an artist, there are some things you have to accept. In my case, a kitchen table will become an art studio extension.

Well, I accepted that fact and, well, have you ever tried to put kitchen table parts back into the box? Seriously. It wasn’t gonna happen. 

So, fare thee well new kitchen table. You never stood a chance. 

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