If you were coming over to my house for dinner tonight,
you would probably:
Be warned to step over a few toys that are scattered on the floor.
Be served on paper plates.
Be given directions to the beer fridge in the garage, the soda fridge out back, and offered whatever we’re mixing in the kitchen.
Be served in plastic Tupperware cups.
Be on the lookout for sticky chairs. Jack has spilled some glue on them lately, and I have found myself stuck a couple of times.
Be entertained all night by my boys – they show off for friends.
Be served a yummy, tried and true favorite recipe of ours.
Be laughed giggled at if you asked to help. Either get up and help, or relax and let me (happily) do it for you :)
Be aware of some floating dog hair, because it’s impossible to get it all up with the vacuum/Swiffer this time of the year.
Be asked if you would like to roast marshmallows with us, rather than enjoy a fancy homemade dessert.
Be spending time with us.
Because if I invite you to my house, I consider you a friend.
And I don’t want to serve you, I want to spend time with you.
I hope that doesn’t make me a bad hostess.
I used to clean the baseboards and get the best dishes out for company.
I used to scrub the cabinet doors.
I used to worry about making a unique and perfect dinner.
I used to run around making sure your cup was filled, plated was picked up, and your belly was full.
But my house?
My house and I are busy.
We’re busy making lots of memories.
And we want you to be one of them.
So now I have a “my house is your house” kind of attitude.
So invite yourself in,
grab a soda. Or a beer.
Or help yourself to anything else you find in the fridge.
And come spend some quality time with me.
This way of hostessing took me 10 years to figure out. I hope you can enjoy it much sooner in life than I did :)0