The Little Tomte and The Very Old Table (An Original Story for Picky Eaters)

At the center of a large village, there was a small house. And at the center of that small house, there was a Very Old Table. It was round, crafted by hand from a mighty oak, which had itself stood at the center of its own village of trees for many years before the woodsman felled it with an axe, long long ago. The table was striped, like a tiger, and it stood proud on four tiger paws, complete with claws on the end of each wooden toe. Above each paw were carved four tiger faces with open mouths and sharp wooden teeth, frozen in what was intended to be a fierce expression. But the table was not fierce at all. It was kindly and wise, for it had been host to many, many mealtimes within the the time that it had been a table.

Hidden behind the leg of the china cabinet that stood beside the Very Old Table, there was a hole in the wall. It was situated right where the baseboard met the wall itself, so it was well-disguised, and would have been an excellent place for a mouse to stake its claim and watch for fallen crumbs. However, it was not a mouse hole, but the entrance to the home of a Little Tomte and his family.

Now, perhaps you are unaware of tomtes - or tomtar, which is the way they were referred to by my Swedish grandmother, who was an expert on their kind. "Tomte" is just one term for the type of small creature that lives within the walls of a home or other structure, and becomes its guardian spirit. They have a different name in every culture, and it's best if you find the one your own grandmother used when you refer to them yourself. This is the way they like to be addressed, you see. I'm not sure why, but it's just considered more correct than calling them a "gnome" or an "elf" for the sake of convenience. And these small folk - whatever you choose to call them - value correctness above all else.

In fact, it was correctness that caused the Little Tomte who lived within view of The Very Old Table to come out and examine the remains of the dinner the family left out one night. Rather than tidying up as usual, they had left the plates, glasses, and scraps of food right there on the table and simply turned out the light.

"This won't do! It simply won't!" The Tomte exclaimed. "They can't just leave things in this state! It's not proper!"

"And what would be proper?" Asked The Very Old Table, kindly.

"To pick up the dishes! To scrape the leftover food into the compost and wipe your tabletop with a rag until you're nice and clean, like they always do!" said the Tomte, indignantly.

"Mother has just had a new baby, and Grandmother hasn't been feeling well," said The Very Old Table, gently. "See her bowl of soup? Why, she's barely touched it."

"And so they can just leave a mess?" The Tomte exclaimed, his voice a shrill squeak.

"Why yes, they can! Where's the harm in that?" The Very Old Table laughed. "More harm would come from everyone staying up late, straining themselves over the state of the dishes I think. Better to go to bed and worry about it all in the morning. And - " The Very Old Table paused, all sixteen of his tiger eyes twinkling. "You get to enjoy whatever they've left behind."

"That is true," said the Little Tomte, reluctantly. And so, he and The Very Old Table began a regular habit of speaking each night after the family had gone to bed, the Little Tomte gathering bits of leftover food to share with his family, and his friend the black mouse, who lived in the basement ceiling. Together, the Little Tomte and The Very Old Table talked about all the things that they observed around the house, especially the habits of the family at mealtimes.

"Ugh!" said the Tomte as he gathered leftover spaghetti into a broken teacup. "I don't know how you can stand being left in such a state. Why, the baby smeared spaghetti all over you, and the floor besides! I don't think he actually ate a thing."

"Why, do you think this is the first baby who has made a mess of me?" Laughed the Very Old Table. "When the little girl was a baby, she was even worse. But I don't mind. That's just the way that babies eat. They learn about their food in lots of ways besides just tasting it."

"I didn't do it that way," scoffed The Tomte. "I put the food right in my mouth and took small bites that I chewed with my mouth closed."

"I'm sure you did," teased The Very Old Table.

The next night, the Little Tomte noticed that Mother and Father had left their plates almost entirely full. He was happy for this, because it was tacos for dinner, which were his favorite. "What a waste," he sighed to The Very Old Table. "Of course, I can't take too much or they would know I'd been here. What a waste." He said again.

"Sometimes, when a person is worried, or sad, or distracted, they don't eat as much as they would when they are happy." Said The Very Old Table thoughtfully. "It's almost as if your belly is so full of feelings there's no room for the food. I'm sure you noticed that Grandmother wasn't here tonight. She still isn't feeling well."

"I wouldn't dare waste food." Said The Little Tomte to himself, spooning beans onto a saucer.

"I'm sure you wouldn't." Replied The Very Old Table.

A few nights later, the Little Tomte came to the table to find that all the plates were clean, except one. This time, the Little Girl had left nearly all of her food untouched.

"Everyone seemed happy tonight." Observed The Very Old Table. "Grandmother is well again. Even she ate all of her dinner!"

"Why didn't the Little Girl eat hers?" Asked The Little Tomte, who was, perhaps, finally learning to become curious rather than simply making judgments about everything.

"Everyone likes different things," said The Very Old Table. "Mother and Father are letting The Little Girl make her own choices about food. Not long ago, they made little children sit and finish every bite of their supper, even if they didn't like it." The Very Old Table shuddered at the memory. "It was very uncomfortable for me."

"My parents would never do that." Said the Little Tomte, with a hint of gratitude.

"I'm sure they wouldn't." The Very Old Table smiled.

Night after night, the two friends watched the family gather and eat their dinner. Sometimes, everyone ate a lot. Sometimes - like when the baby cried, or The Little Girl felt upset, or perhaps a new recipe didn't go over as well as expected - the family only ate a little.

"So, what's the right way to have dinner?" Asked the Little Tomte one night. As I'm sure you remember, tomtes like things to be correct, and if there's a right way to do something, you best be sure that's the way they will insist on doing it.

"What do you think?" The Very Old Table asked.

"Well, I think it's actually not about the eating." The Little Tomte began thoughtfully. He had been tucking away half a leftover hotdog in a napkin, but he paused in order to really consider his response before replying. "I think the best meals are when everyone is happy and laughing and enjoying themselves."

"Yes, I think so, too." Agreed the Very Old Table.

"The food is important," continued the Tomte. "But it's not the only thing. It's just the thing that brings everyone together."

"Yes, and you know what?" Asked The Very Old Table.

"What?"

"I'm so happy that I get to be the one that they gather around." The Very Old Table stretched his tiger paws with pride as he thought of all the meals he'd shared with his family, and the families before them. He thought of all the meals to come, as The Little Girl and the baby kept growing up. He knew that there would be laughter and sadness, and sticky messes, too. But he didn't mind one bit.

That night, the Little Tomte returned to his own family and shared what he'd learned at their own kitchen table, which was not a table at all, but a thick library book stacked on top of four toy blocks. Together, they enjoyed their meal - but they enjoyed each other's company even more.