Exposed

I've been reading again.  That is always dangerous to my comfort zone, which I prefer to be large and uninhibited.  At all times.   I've been diving into a few real head-scratchers, so I was trying to keep a "lighter" book on the side to even things out.  Shauna Niequist's "Bread and Wine" has been on my to-read list for literal years so I finally got after it.  As always, she is charming and hilarious, and all was well until I hit page 105.  105 is dumb.  And I don't like it.  Because it's hard.

105 is all about hospitality.  And I have about as much hospitality in my whole being as Martha Stewart has in a tiny finger nail clipping.  Ok, that was a gross analogy, but still true.  Don't get me wrong, I love having friends over and spending time with them - but as I've learned, that is not hospitality, it is "hosting".  And hosting involves a lot of cleaning, and cooking, and lists, and stressing out about how much dog drool is on your walls, and how your basement is unfinished, and you can't remember the last time that you cleaned the downstairs toilet (but you've spent an inordinate amount of time determining that you've done it at least once since you moved in, which was over a year ago...).  I can do hosting.  Down to it's most basic elements, hosting is just making a list of things that you need to do and then doing it.  It's more involved than that, but essentially that's it.

Oh, but hospitality.

This is something that has me shaking in my boots.  Because hospitality has nothing to do with lists, it has everything to do with hearts.  And those are much harder to handle in my experience.  Hospitality is the gift of opening your home.  That's it.  One simple thing, right?  Except, it means nothing on a list being left undone can change the opening of it.  Even if it's not clean, and your kids toys are everywhere, and you hair is a mess, and you have basically nothing in your fridge because tomorrow is your designated Costco day (it's always the first Monday of the month, just in case you were wondering).

I am not good at hearts.  I am good at lists.

And not because I am a total jerk.  It's at least partially because I am an introvert, so opening my home, having that heart of hospitality, is just not as natural for me since I go to my home for a retreat from the world.  Somewhere (mostly) quiet (but only when my children are in bed), somewhere with (at least some) peace and simplicity (and a lot of free-range dog hair).

If you know me at all, then you know I am no interior decorator.  I love fashion, but you give me a room and some various color swatches and textiles and I will come out crying every time.  Truth be told, Ryan usually picks out most of our wall colors, as well as fung-shui's our house, so thank God one of us has some style!  It's not that I can't appreciate great home style, I pretty much worship Chip and Jojo afterall, but a home decorator I am not. You can ask anyone who has been in my home, even at it's best, there is always mess and un-done-ness.  And there is no excuse of having children either, because I have always been this way - just ask my parents... My teenage self literally had to wade through knee-deep clothes to get from my door to my bed.   I've gotten better, sure, but you'll still find unfolded clothes in nearly every bedroom in my home.  I guess it's because these are things I care less about.  But there is a weird shame these days, perhaps it's the Pinterest age, or Instagram, you see everyone's "perfect" closets and laundry rooms, so you just assume that's what every house should (and does) look like.  And if yours doesn't then there must be something wrong.  And even though I don't care as much as I once did, and I clearly don't care enough to get better at folding laundry (even if I should), I still feel that ache of shame, that somehow I should care more and try harder.

But page 105.

So if I am ashamed about things that I don't really think matter that much, and I let that shame control how I open up my home, isn't that a little silly?  It is.  But it still feels HARD.

And so, as I wrestled with my brain and heart (and lists), I began to think about how I like to handle hard things. There are two kinds of people in this life - the kind of person who yanks a band-aid off and the kind that slowly, gently, removes it.  I am a yanker.  Always have been, always will be.  So if this is hard, and the reason that it's hard is because I am ashamed about stupid things that I shouldn't be ashamed of, and I am a yanker, the only logical step is to expose myself for ya'll to see, and then what else is there to be afraid of?  It's already out there.  The thing that I am afraid of is already over.  The band-aid is gone.

So, page 105, here we go.

The following is what my house looks like 95% of the time. While I'm not including every un-windexed window or unwashed towel, I tried to think of the areas that I am most "ashamed of" when I have guests over.  Since those are the places that are the most stressful for me, they are the ones that I need most to expose.

Personal note: We are not slobs, we do clean our house on the reg (#kids #alwayscleaningbutneverclean).  The intent here is not to be the "worst of the worst" with some shocking pictures, this isn't some weird contest of "who has a dirtier house", or a backward way of looking for reassurance, so please hold any "your house doesn't look that bad!" comments, that isn't the heart of this. We all have our own areas of perceived shame, these are just a few of mine.  

My counters:  No matter how many times I clean them, they are NEVER, EVER clean.

My floors:  Our dogs shed, a LOT.  I run our iRoomba almost every day.  This is still what it looks like, and honestly this is a "good" day.  There is no getting around it.

My table:  You know those beautiful Insta stories with gorgeous tables that are set beautifully with the most calming ambiance?  I'm not even gonna bother showing you the table, instead, you get an up-close view of underneath it.  This is how it always looks.  Except this week there is a pink jewel.  It's been there for two days.  Not sure where it came from, but I told Axel to pick it up three times today and I am not giving in and doing it myself - battle of the wills over here.

My laundry room:  It's where things go to die.  Sure, the laundry always USUALLY gets done, but pretty much everything else just lands in piles, only to get shoved around and re-organized, to clutter a slightly different space on top of the washing machine.  This is my life.

Our garage:  This is where we live almost half of our lives.  With two active boys, we spend much of our time riding bikes, doing projects, or just "dinking around", and most of that happens out here.  Therefore, it is NEVER clean.  I think it was maybe clean for 5 minutes before we moved in.  Hasn't been since.  I could give excuses about how we have so many on-going projects and that the space just isn't organized well, but it doesn't really matter, this is what is looks like pretty much always.

Our downstairs "bathroom":  Full disclosure, there wasn't a bathroom here when we moved in. The plumbing was done for one, but nothing actually in it.  As a surprise, Ryan and Rando installed a toilet for me (if you don't get why this is literally the BEST gift ever for me, then you probably don't know me very well ;)), and the rest sort of just followed.  However, we have yet to create a server room, so here, in all it's glory is our "server room/bathroom".  I really feel that this has to end up on a funniest home video somewhere in the future, and I'm always looking for the perfect quip about multitasking in here... Shoot me your best suggestions :)

And that's just my house.  What about me?

I like to not wear make-up, in the summer not get out of jean shorts and a tank, and throw my hair up in a messy bun on pretty much any day that I don't work.  And if it's winter it's definitely a toss-up between sweat pants or leggings.  It's not classy or trendy, it's comfortable and relaxed.  And honestly, that part of it I do love.  But there is something about personal appearance that is shameful as well, as though if I am not beauty-queen ready at a moments notice to entertain guests, that something is wrong with me.  But isn't that ridiculous too?  It's just an extension of what I've always said about friendships "The people who care about that kind of stuff are not the kind of people that you should care about what they think.  And the people who don't care about those things are the ones that you should care about what they think."  My good friends and family have seen me in crap clothes and no make-up many times.  They don't care.  So why should I?

So that's it.  I've ripped off the band-aid, exposed my shame, and now there's nothing to hold me back from page 105.  From hospitality.  From hearts, not lists.

I won't let my fear rule how I live my life.  I will not let things that shouldn't matter control how I reach out and love others. I will live exposed.  It may not be pretty, but it's real, and it's about the heart, and in the end, I hope that's all that really matters...