Mima has been holding on to a little red table for many years now. It's the table that sat in the basement of our childhood home when my siblings and I were very young, and we spent many days sitting at it to draw, color, do craft activities, and play games. I wrote my name on the sides of it many times, in many places, and though pretty much all of my graffiti faded away in my mother's attempts to scrub the table clean, it's still that same old table that I knew and loved.
And it's now sitting in my living room, waiting to be moved to its final home in our basement playroom.
Now that Abby has reached a certain age, where she enjoys doing certain seated activities, I've indicated that I wanted to get her an appropriately-sized activity table. Mima took the opportunity to offer up the little table that she had stashed away. Though it's taken weeks to get here due to miscommunications and general forgetfulness, it finally arrived today, along with Mima, and was given a sweet, but all too brief, introduction to Abigail herself this evening.
I was hoping that she'd like it, but she didn't just like it. She was ecstatic over it.
She sat in her little chair for a long time, enjoying the view from behind her "desk," examining the tabletop, and looking as proud as a peacock.
Once she'd gotten herself settled in, she asked, "Where is Abby's laptop?"
She really is her father's daughter.