The Dining Table

The other night my hubby was attempting to visit with me about one of the March Madness games. When I hesitated to respond as if I was clueless on the matter, he politely reminded me that we had been sitting in the living room watching the aforementioned game together.

"Oh, yeah," I explained myself. "Wasn't really watching though. I had to get caught up on some reading." This is completely true, btw. I have too much to read and too little time.

He chuckled at me.

"Why do you find that humorous?" I asked.

"I just don't understand why you think you need to fit four lifetimes into one."

I have a few plans. In no specific order, I'd like to

• Understand economics at all levels (as do many others right now),
• Master the art of business, 
• Win a Pulitzer by writing a simple novel about universal compassion,
• Raise remarkable children, and, of course,
• Create the charm of a Pottery Barn store in my home.

Of all of those goals, the last one really baffles me. At so many levels. I can't even get the dining room table right–something that can really set the tone of a house. As soon as I come home from work, it's the first piece of furniture I see. And I can barely see it. Allow myself to explain:

While my centerpiece of faux grass spikes fearlessly on the distressed dining table as a part of my rustic motif, I'm distracted by...clutter. Shin guards aerate! Overstuffed school bags collapse instead of hang on the hooks that were specifically made for them by the entrance! Baseball gloves await to go back outside! Endless drawings and paper shout, "Hey, waste about thirty minutes shuffling through me!" And amazingly, someone actually found enough surface to eat. You see, someone didn't take their dirty glass or plate to the dishwasher. It had to to be a kid. Who else would be enticed to eat at this sticky table? Not Martha Stewart, that's for sure. She'd be downright appalled.

I always thought that by this time in my life my dining room table would like something like this: 

Yes, with that backdrop for scenery. Maybe even with a Sheep dog sleeping underneath. Instead I have this:

Oh wait. I see it. The cute kid sitting there. Man, I love that boy. And his messes. And his sister's messes. And his father's messes. Guess, my table is pretty dang awesome after all. Pottery Barn can have their uncluttered perfect table. I'll keep mine.