September 21 2014
With the turn of the doorknob a little fluffy creature will always approach you with ears back and tail wagging. The thump of her paws on the hard tile is enough to brighten your day. Her little yellow body stumbles over the shoes scattered in the hallway and slides into your legs almost knocking you over before you can even put your bag down. The little yellow lab will follow you into the kitchen, bathroom, up the stairs, down the stairs until she gets the attention she craves. At any given moment you can walk into the kitchen and smell pasta cooking. There is never someone not in the kitchen. The television is constantly streaming Family Guy full blast yet people are still screaming and talking over it but refuse to turn it down. The little lab Sandy is always in the way and always grubbin’ for scraps of anything edible. My mom is running behind us trying to organize everything we make a mess of. My dad is standing in the middle of the kitchen stirring pasta, and pouring wine while talking to my sister who is all the way upstairs in her room. As she skips down the stairs and sits in her usual spot at the kitchen table she picks up the remote control and we all know what is going to happen next. She’ll put on the Food Network or the Game Show Channel and my dad will yell at her because Jeopardy comes on at seven. By this time, my mom is still standing, my older sister Allie is sitting next to my other older sister Victoria but is occupied with the little furry creature under the table. My dad is still cooking odd amounts of food that way more for a family of five and I’m sitting here soaking it all in.
The kitchen table is a long wooden oval with six green chairs around it. There is always the one empty chair that we pile all of the miscellaneous items that were on the table that week so we don't have to sort through mail and figure out whose keys are whose and what those little sticky notes mean before we get started on dinner. My kitchen table is what holds all my childhood memories. We still try to meet there every Sunday night, all five of us, well six including my little dog. I’ve done my homework there for twelve years and learned how to write my name on that very table. I dyed my first Easter egg there and played endless games of Rummy, a card game that my mom always seems to win. Every birthday cake of mine has been served at that table and funny stories of the day or weekend have been shared over that table. My kitchen is the family meeting area, and eating area. When anything happens that needs to be talked about, or advice needs to be given or taken, through all the times I’ve been yelled at and praised, we have met in that very kitchen. I love the people that live in my household and wouldn’t want to spend my time in a chaotic kitchen with anyone else.





