Growing up, I remember many weekends spent at my grandparents house, whom we affectionately called Wing and Grancie. No matter how early I woke up, they were always up earlier. Drinking coffee and reading the paper, ready to greet me with cinnamon raisin toast.

It was the most perfect, warm and inviting space to wake up to.

I don’t mean perfect by today’s house standards. They raised five children in a home with a small kitchen and one bathroom.
A kitchen with formica countertops and vinyl floors.
A basic metal sink and floor to ceiling floral wallpaper.
Your standard white refrigerator with the freezer on top.
And a butcher block crammed right in the center of it all.

I have so many memories of family piled into their tiny kitchen, huddled around the butcher block. Wing’s macaroni in the oven and butter beans simmering on the stove. Once my grandparents were gone, I was lucky enough to get the butcher block. So here it lives. A tiny, mismatched extension of my counter.

It’s a bit more crowded in here with the butcher block, but I kinda love it this way. It’s a daily reminder of how my grandparents home felt. How I hope mine feels.

Warm, welcoming, imperfect, and bursting with love ❤️

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