Skip to main content

reluctant dinner party

Early in the week, I had big plans to have people over.

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.)

Labels

Labels:

Comments

This Heavenly Life said…
That sounds like a wonderful, comfortable night. I'm glad you went ahead with the get-together anyway! And now I'm thinking I need to have one too -- no cleaning required :)

Enjoy your Sunday :)
October 17, 2010 at 7:43 AM
Kate said…
This is perfect. I love the noise and mess and chaos and camaraderie of having people over, but I too feel like my house isn't clean enough, my menu not sophisticated, my chairs a bit too wobbly. I need friends I just don't pick up for. Or I need to stop picking up for the friends I have.
October 17, 2010 at 8:52 AM
Margie said…
I wish I could just Not Care. We've decided we want to have people over more often, but it takes practice to let people come in when it's so...lived in. Always.

But this gives me courage. Paper plates, yes!
October 20, 2010 at 1:56 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...
14 comments
Read more

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...
22 comments
Read more

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...
8 comments
Read more