The marked-up table
A yell for Mom from the kitchen ended a recent nap rather abruptly. Imagine the wild thoughts that ran through my mind as I made it from the bedroom to the kitchen where I found my daughter - a daughter who knows not to put a glass of liquids or hot food directly on the cherry table once owned by her late great-grandmother and now loved by her mother .... a daughter who knows the table pads are less then 3 feet away, placemats even closer and a bagful of read newspapers just across the room.
The crafting whiz was putting together another fleece flower kit and needed to expand a pattern by using wax paper and a printed paper. She carefully traced the basic outlines and then cut out her material. The yell came when she started cleaning up for the day and saw her "light" etching.
A few questions later and I discover she and her boyfriend discussed just covering the etching with a placemat or two, returning to Tennessee and a few other options. But she decided to tell the truth and face me.
She knew I had tried protecting the table over the years. She was the one who broke the thick glass that once covered the table. She knows no meal is served directly on the wood. She has watched me cover the table before using a rotary cutter on the my latest batch of fabrics or clays.
What she didn't expect was me laughing.
At first, I was amazed that a 24-year-old forgot basic lessons of crafting. But then, I was amused at her reaction. After all we've been through lately, a few more scratches in the table hardly matter. Yes, I like nice things and I like them to remain nice.
But I enjoy more the days she has the energy to create fleece flowers, crochet hats, and make her creatures from pom pons.
Besides, there is always a bottle of Old English polish under the sink. She could - and did - make the lines almost disappear with some elbow grease.