Posted by michelle on Sunday, October 17, 2010 / Labels: friendship
Shaun and Owen were going to camp out and I thought it would be a perfect excuse for a cheap girls night.
And then the week took it’s toll on me.
Not sleeping well, behind at work, stomach hurting, emotionally drained.
By the time Friday night hit. I just wanted to put on my pjs and crawl into bed.
Add on to that the fact that the boys didn’t go camping.
And I had a screaming headache from unintentionally sniffing glue at school all day (long crazy story that could be a blog post in itself).
But some of my friends still wanted to come over.
And I figured I might as well.
I love having people over.
I even like to cook.
But I hate to clean.
And my house and my mess and my lack of seating and matching china embarrasses me.
So we usually don’t.
Especially not when I’m super tired and haven’t picked up or done dishes or even gone to the store.
A few families were coming over and I warned them I wasn’t picking up a thing. Which I usually say and then do anyways.
But this time I really didn’t.
I broke out the paper plates. Ones with Easter eggs on them.
And brought in lawn chairs from outside.
I made a really simple easy meal and for some reason Owen put on his Halloween costume.
And my friends came.
And if they noticed the dirt on the floor or the dirty dishes piled up in the sink they didn’t say anything.
Kids ran around destroying.
Husbands watched baseball.
And the girls ended up sitting and talking easily at the table.
And very quickly I didn’t feel so tired or like climbing into bed.
The noise and the mess filled my house and my heart and I went back for seconds.
And we talked some more.
And later, I sank into the couch in the living room cluttered with toys, sipping sangria, while a good friend cleaned my kitchen.
Wondering why I cared about my mess anyways.
That I had enjoyed my night despite the paper plates and lack of appetizers.
And I was full in more ways than one.
And that maybe we don’t have to be so afraid to let people see our dirty floors and unmade beds or the rest of the things we try so hard to keep hidden.
In our laundry rooms or even our hearts.
(And thanks, Tina, for doing the dishes.)