The “Kitchen Island” Dream

Growing up, my brother and I would sit at the kitchen island a lot. We’d sit there as we ate a rushed breakfast on school days. We’d huddle there together on snowy winter mornings watching the local school closings one by one, praying for a snow day. That kitchen island stool was the first place I’d plop myself when I got home, grabbing my stack of Oreos (I’d like to tell you I broke this habit…but that’s neither here nor there) and decompressing after a long day of being a teenager. Many, many hours were spent watching TRL there (hello, Britney and N*SYNC). We’d sit there in the early evening, smelling the kitchen smells and incessantly asking Mom when dinner would be ready. It’s where I’d tip toe to when I wanted to secret midnight snack. I remember the day I got engaged, sitting there at that very island with my family, letting the huge-ness of that reality sink in.

Big moments and small, we were there. Sometimes having big, heavy conversations. Sometimes doing nothing at all… just swaying in those stools and talking with Mom and Dad.

When we found out we were expecting Georgia, we began to look for a bigger home to suit our growing family. We both made wish lists, and must-haves. Sure, I had all kinds of dreamy Pinterest-worthy ideas stored up and ready to go. But the one thing I kept picturing when I envisioned my family growing into our new home was that kitchen island. I wanted this space to be the heart of our home. To act as a hub for all our crazy, busy, messy moments.

In the end, we decided to take the leap and build. Our house sold quick, and into an apartment we went. We brought sweet little Georgia home to that apartment, and on days when we felt cramped and cranky, I dreamed of bar stools and counter tops.

Just days before moving in. Mama was excited.

I’m so thankful we were able to make this dream a reality. Did I mind the fact that an island meant a BIGGER kitchen? Not at all. Was that the reason I was so fixated on it? Not at all. I just couldn’t wait to start making the kind of family memories my parents made with us in that kitchen years ago. I couldn’t wait to watch my babies laugh, play, eat, and argue all while having little chit chats with Mom. I plan on those chit chats lasting a long while, through several rounds of reupholstering those stools, I’m sure. Through homework, heart-break, big conversations, and little silly moments. To them, this space is just their “spot” at meal time. For me, it’s a little window through which I watch my dreams grow up.


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