The Green Tablecloth

One cold winter afternoon many years ago I was desperately trying to figure out how to get through the afternoon.  The kids were small, none were in school yet.  The weather was below zero and snowing.  Our condo was cramped with little room to play.  By mid-afternoon the kids had already painted, colored, done a couple of puzzles, played dress-ups, taken a bath and finger-painted in the tub, played with make-up, and watched a movie.  They were going stir-crazy, literally bursting at the seams of the confining condo.  And I had run out of ideas for how to keep them occupied for the last couple hours of the day until Dad would be home from work. 

“Okay, everybody get ready,” I announced.

“Ready for what?  Are we going somewhere?” they asked.

“Just get ready,” I repeated.  “Go wash your hands and faces, brush your hair, make sure your clothes are clean, pick up your room and get your best dollies and stuffed animals ready.  When you’re done, shut your bedroom door.  That way I’ll know you are ready.”

Immediately there was excitement in the air.  What was Mom doing?! 

In the kitchen, I desperately looked around for something fun they could have for an afternoon snack.  We didn’t have anything fun. 

I finally grabbed three small plastic containers and filled each one with some raisins, a couple of mini marshmallows, and half of a graham cracker.  I added three paper towels, neatly folded.  Then, in an effort to make this ordinary afternoon snack seem like something special, I grabbed an old green tablecloth out of a bottom kitchen drawer.

The tablecloth was about 3-foot square with a frayed edge.  I chose it mainly because I wouldn’t care if it got permanently stained or torn.  It was already old and worn. 

I put the paper towels, the plastic containers of snacks, and the old green tablecloth into a grocery bag.  The kids’ bedroom door was now shut.  They were ready.  I stood outside the door, listening to snippets of excited conversation.

“What do you think she’s doin’?”

“Do you think Mom has presents for us?!”

“Maybe we’re goin’ somewhere’s really fun!”

“I wonder what we’re s’posed to be ready for!”

I took a deep breath, hoping that I hadn’t just set them up for disappointment, and knocked sharply at the door.

Silence.  Then a small, dignified voice said, “Come in.”

“Hi!” I said brightly as I walked into their room with an air of importance.  “I felt like doing something fun today.  So I packed up a picnic and thought I would stop by your house and see if you and your kids would like to share a picnic with me.”

For just a second they sat motionless.  Silently watching me, wondering what this was all about.  Then, still not quite sure what to think, they each started to smile. 

Kathryn, our oldest, was the first to join me.

“Yes, we’d love to,” she said.  “We were just sitting here wondering what to do with our kids this afternoon.”

Anna, already taking her cues from her older sister, jumped in next.

“I have my kids right over there, Mom.” She pointed to her row of neatly set-up stuffed animals.

“Well,” I continued cheerfully, “I just hate being cooped up inside on these cold winter afternoons.  So, I brought my kids over to play with your kids.  And I packed us a picnic.”

“Where should we have it?” they wondered.

“Oh look, I’ve left your front door wide open,” I said as I shut the bedroom door again.  “Why don’t we have our picnic right here?  I brought a special new tablecloth that we can use.”

I took out the ugly, old green tablecloth.  They “oohed” and “aahed.”  I spread the tablecloth on their bed as we chatted about our children, like busy moms like to do.  Then I set out the folded napkins, and handed each of them a plastic container of goodies. 

We sat around the tablecloth, on the kids’ bed, surrounded by dollies and stuffed animals.  And the room was filled with animated visiting, giggles and smiles as they munched on the “fancy little snacks” I had packed for us. 

And much too quickly the magic time was over.  Our picnic ended and it was time for me to go “home.”  I gathered up the empty containers and gently picked up the tablecloth, full of crumbs and with a few spots of sticky marshmallow and crushed raisins.  I put it all back in the bag, said my goodbyes and left the room.

That was the first, of what would become many, picnics.  And that old, worn, green tablecloth; the 3-foot square one with the fringe at the edges; has been the only thing that has stayed the same.  With it, the ordinary becomes magical.  Hot chocolate and graham crackers.  Crackers and sliced bananas.  Raisins and juice.  Apple slices and peanut butter.  Anything will do provided it’s set out on the ugly old green tablecloth.

Eventually we expanded to having dinner picnics, too.  At times when things weren’t going great.  When we just needed to do something a little out of the ordinary.  Something celebratory.  Dinner would become a picnic on the living room floor with popcorn, apple slices, carrot sticks, salami slices or string cheeses, and maybe even M&Ms.  And all of us gathered around the edges of the old green tablecloth.  Visiting, or watching a movie.

One particular evening after we’d had a picnic dinner out on the living room floor, I had gathered up what was left, and shaken out the old green tablecloth which was once again full of crumbs.  Later, as I was getting the kids into bed, our daughter Kathryn stopped me.

“Hey Mom?” she said in a quiet voice.  “When I grow up do you think I could have the green tablecloth?”

I said I supposed so, and asked why.

“Cause, when I’m a mom I want to do picnics with my kids, too.  It kinda helps you get through long days.”

And I’m pretty sure that was the exact moment in time.  The moment when, for me, that tired old green tablecloth with the fringed edges became priceless. 

Looking at it now, becoming priceless wasn’t a sudden occurrence.  Although it felt like it at the time.  Becoming priceless actually took years.  The process had started years earlier, one cold winter afternoon when I was desperately trying to figure out how to get through a particularly long afternoon.