Plasticry

It is no secret that I adore hosting. I am proudly a people person. I draw energy from others. I’m sure some would describe me as a parasite as I seem to syphon energy from the room. (For those I have drained, like my mother, I apologize.) But in this season of small child mothering, I just cannot muster a dinner replete with finery. I feel that God is teaching me something about relationships centered around simplicity and honesty. Yes, I often qualify as the mom who does “the most.” While I don’t take this as an offensive description, I understand how it can be a bit off-putting.

I truly desire to make my home a safe comfortable place for my loved ones either blood, marriage, or otherwise, to gather and break bread. I appreciate and embrace the lessons taught to me by my mother and grandmother. “Take pride in your home.” “Care for and cherish this space that you and your husband have worked hard to build.” “Honor the space God has called you to manage.” These lessons are invaluable. But what happens when I begin to focus on a clean house over a comfortable conversation? My legalism eventually shouts down any hope of loving and lasting friendships. It's exhausting. Besides, deep cleaning your house while living with a seven year old, a two year old and a dog… it’s like wiping before you poop. Nothing but a waste or time and resources. I submit the below photo as evidence of said uselessness. I had just deep cleaned the house the night before.

Today I hosted a small gathering of moms. After a night of sleeplessness (because kids) I chose not to run around straightening my house. These women don’t care. I put the dirty dishes in the sink and set out this impressive display of plasticry. (new term, you're welcome) Why yes, those are leftover Christmas napkins. I have no shame. Then I gave myself permission to sit and feed my baby while talking to my mother because that is what my morning should look like. But I’m also extremely thankful none of these moms took the time to look at my guest bathroom to see just how nasty my eldest is. (seriously, too much sidewalk chalk yesterday makes a revolting brown post-bath ring. It’s on my cleaning list for another day).

My point is, stop trying to be everything all the damn time. Don’t allow the fear of not living up because you don’t have fine china or a beautiful table-scape keep you from welcoming friends into your home or you will never have deep and meaningful relationships. Conversely, don’t let the fear of crying babies keep you locked up either. The moms who love you will not only not care about a crying baby, they will probably offer to help you at the drop of a pacifier.