Party Hosting

I love to have people come to our home. I adore cooking for them and visiting with them. I believe that opening our home to people is akin to opening our hearts to them. It's a way of giving everything we have to our relationship with our guests. I look forward to these events for weeks leading up to them.

Having said that, our house is not large, and it is sometimes challenging to accommodate everyone comfortably. I'm sure there is a "rule of thumb" regarding space and number of guests, but I've not yet stumbled upon it. For now, we are left to dream up possible seating arrangements and flow spaces...yet we always come up with a deficit. My immediate reaction is, "THIS is why we need a bigger home!" Truth be told, however, that we don't entertain large parties frequently enough to justify rolling into a new home to better suit them. A more creative and practical approach leads us to discover creative uses of space.

While our home is not huge, our lot is quite sizable. It's over a quarter of an acre, large by Houston standards. Thus, it would be possible to set up seating outdoors. This fall and winter, as we invite people to our home, we will be grateful for our ability to use a space that has, until now, been used as a dog run.

Back when we were looking, one of Ryan's standards for purchasing a house was that it must have a small yard. He loathes yard work. Well, my dear, we might finally be making use of that extra space I strong-armed you into! And it might even save you money in the long run!

JUST SIMPLIFY

How trite. Of course I want to simplify. Every time I find myself walking up to the house with an arm full of shopping bags I wonder, "What in the world could I possibly be bringing into this house that we actually NEED?" I suppose the answer is, "Very little."

Our house is just over twenty-four hundred square feet large. But somehow it feels like it's just over twenty-four hundred square feet too small. How in the world could this be? We are a small family: myself, Ryan, and Baby B. To tell you the truth, we barely even USE half of the house...probably more. Having said that, we do have that excess packed to the brim with STUFF. I'm so sick of STUFF! We're drowning in an addiction to which we still play the slave. I'm not sure where to find the cure.

SO, folks, I've turned to the Super-Moms of the world, and I am desperately seeking tricks, secrets, and strategies to SIMPLIFY our lives. Well, truth be told, I've been seeking these tips for about two months. I'm not sure I've made much progress, but I have kicked about five monstrous trash bags full of clothes to the curb...or, Goodwill. I've also blown through my kitchen and removed MOST of the tools I never use. I even relegated many of the infant items to the garage. Nevertheless, you would never know any progress had been made.

Somehow, I have loads and loads of homeless STUFF. Little ornaments and statues and crystal. I have so much that means so much, but we haven't the proper places to house them. I suppose that the answer is to kiss them good-bye and carefully pack them away so that we might find a way to enjoy them in our next home.

I'm also finding that we could clothe an army of beds with the blankets we have. I'm left convinced that if I just continue to hang onto these things, I'll find relief when the unanticipated need arises.

And, oh, the toys! I am totally overwhelmed with the toy situation. Our living room looks like a daycare center. While we have the space to create a playroom, I have to believe that Baby B will always prefer (and need) to be in close proximity to me while he plays. I don't foresee spending our days in the confines of one room, even if it is a child's Heaven.

It will be my mission in 2010 to organize this house. I'll work away the clutter room by room, and I'm quite sure...very sure...ummm...yeah...that by 2011 I will be a new woman! And, I'll fit into my size four clothing again! (Hey, while we're dreaming...)

Frisked! Again!

Last Thursday, Ryan and I left for a mini-vacation in Colorado. Despite having to make a 6am flight, we sported two positive attitudes and timely arrivals at IAH. And then "security" entered the picture. Scene:

Only one lane of "security" was open despite it being such a busy time for business travel. The line must have been about thirty feet long just to pass the first identification verification. Shortly after joining the other patient travelers, there arose a verbal battle between the "security" agent and a group of foreign travelers. I believe their accent was Russian, but I can't be sure. Clearly, they did not understand the American concept of standing in line. Their confusion sent the intolerant and abrasive "security" agent into a tailspin of lectures to all of the surrounding travelers. She stopped the line several times to shake her finger at us all. The alleged Russians breezed through the x-ray machine and metal detectors without further issue.

I, however, the short, plump, blond(?,) all-American, young woman who never confuses the verbs to "lay" and to "lie," was pulled to the side for a pat down. Oh, no, my friends. They didn't use a wand. I was felt up and down and too close to personal bits. Did I mention it was a show for all of the other travelers to watch? It's good to know that I am just as likely to be perceived as a terrorist as, well... people that cause noticeable distractions in the security lines. No, I don't suggest that there was anything suspicious about the Russian travelers. I have to believe, however, that there are endless ways in which they MORE closely fit the profile of someone to watch.

You might be surprised to know that I was barely fazed by the event. Why? Oh, my friends, I've had MUCH more humiliating experiences at the hands of "security" officers.

Flashback about four years to the Baltimore airport. Mom and I had been visiting family in DC, but it was time to go home. It must have been a slow time or date to fly because the airport was quiet. "Security" must have been bored. After walking through the metal detector, I was pulled aside for further investigation. Ahhhhhh...lovely. There I was without my shoes, without my jacket. I stood there stripped down to a sleeveless shirt and a loose pair of black pants. The agent began to swipe me with the metal detector wand. It kept detecting metal on my body. I had to pull up my pant legs one by one. No metal. The agents were confused. I did tell them that I had metal in my knee from a post-ski surgery I had years earlier. Then, it happened.

They wanted a closer look at my mid-section. I had to pull up my shirt, not to the point of exposing my undergarments, but high enough to show my mid-drift. My other arm out to the side like a scarecrow, I stood there feeling increasingly upset as...wait for it...AN ENTIRE UNIT OF SERVICEMEN WALKED PAST ME ENJOYING THE FREE "WELCOME HOME" SHOW!

Eventually, of course, the "security" agents were confused enough to give up. (Good to know they're so committed, right?)

Thus, I sit here today, twice frisked by airport agents. It's not fun, folks. Perhaps next time I'll have a meltdown in line waiting to shove my bags through the metal detector. Then, I will look like an average, disgruntled passenger calling just enough attention to myself to be perceived as "normal."

The Money Person

I am the "money person" in this house. I pay the bills, collect the receipts, and manage the accounts. This year I have committed to consolidating some of these accounts. Although many of them APPEAR to be held at the same financial institutions you'd be AMAZED at the paperwork, phone calls, and appearances this feat requires.

In the last three weeks I've been desperately tackling a custodial account and my Teacher Retirement System account. The idea is to move the funds into Roth IRAs. Despite all of my efforts, the monies still have not been moved. (Ironically, however, I had to OPEN a NEW account in the process of said transfers.) Maybe, just maybe, if I work on it EVERY DAY by the end of 2010 I might finally have a reasonable number of accounts to manage.

The lesson is twofold. First of all, don't let your accounts multiply. Rather, when you need to change ownership make the time to go to the institution and make the changes in person. (Although that whole "in person" thing hasn't gotten me very far in the past few days.) Secondly, persistence is key. Put your banks' customer service lines on speed dial, and have a daily chat!

On Perfection

About two months ago several of the blogs I read offered an answer to "How do you do it all?" The ladies who run these blogs are, in fact, miraculously brilliant homemakers. I just assumed (and pretty much still do) that some women are born with Olympian-style talents for the role. I am DEFINITELY not one of those women, and no one would EVER mistake me for one. But oh how I sometimes wish I were... Nevertheless, I was relieved to read how these aforementioned bloggers responded the the inquiries.

To sum them up, they reported that time is, of course, finite, so there are things they DO and things they DON'T DO. Some even ventured as far as making lists to expose their realities. I decided it would be a good pick-me-up exercise to try this myself. Expert critic that I am, I'm pretty sure that my "don't do" tally far outweighs my "do" tally. But some relief comes in the fact that I indeed have a list of things I do and things I do well. For example, I make a fantastic butter-cream frosting, I make a to-die-for cinnamon applesauce, and I show unprecedented and unbelievable patience with my toddler. I don't scrapbook, crochet (although I'm considering classes,) get up early, or immediately get dirty dishes into the dishwasher. There are more to each list, of course, but I am not the measuring stick of perfection as are the IMAGES of the bloggers I read.

My second source of forgiveness for my imperfections as a homemaker came, unexpectedly, from a magazine article. It's so cliche, who knew some actual wisdom could be imparted by a magazine's quiz? Perhaps it's not quite wisdom, but I found some relief therein. The quiz was something along the lines of "Find out who you really are so you can be you really are." I'm sure it was more eloquently written. I thought it was a bit of a joke until I hit a category of questions that identified my nature EXACTLY. WHO KNEW I WASN'T ALONE? Not I.

The article concluded that I fall into the category of the "Intellectual." No, it doesn't describe my IQ. Instead, it describes what gives me energy, how I enjoy spending my time, and my natural tendencies. By reading ABOUT myself, I had a moment of epiphany: who I am is a LEARNER. I will ALWAYS be a learner. I love to research, and write, and spend my time getting the most thorough IDEAS of my area of interest.

People who are able to translate their natures directly into a career are, and rightly so, lauded for their recognizable talents therein. Some of us, however, have natures that are more hidden under the layers of our jobs, families, and obligations. To IDENTIFY our natures, even if only to ourselves, is to RELIEVE ourselves of the guilt of what we are not. We may have convoluted ways of contributing or shining, but we each have a nature that has immense value to those around us.

I am a LEARNER. I will fulfill my mission in life THROUGH this natural tendency that I possess. And by embracing who I AM I will free myself, and enjoy myself, and hope that you will enjoy me.

Oh Em Gee!

Yep, I MADE these, the PJ pants! I was gifted a series of sewing classes, and it totally paid off. Lots of fun. Translation: if I can do this you can DEFINITELY do it. I have the patience of a famished lion. Oh, yes, and if you're on my holiday gift list, you just MIGHT be getting some too!

(I'm pretty sure that sewing these pants and making a fantastic butter-cream icing are my ONLY Martha Stewart "ish" feats in the last year of being a stay-at-home-mom. Hey, I'm a work in progress.)

My Confession on His Birthday

My title is "Homemaker Exposed." Here is my maximum exposure, a shame-filled truth wherein I hope I am not alone:

I tried not to love him.

When my son was born, I realized that the expression "such a miracle" is not trite as I had believed, but rather true in biblical proportions. Part me, part Ryan, part God and His creation, my son is most deeply a miracle. But he is separate from me. I cannot completely protect him. I cannot completely heal him. He is left in God's hands, and I am left to recognize my own mortality, my own vulnerability. And it scared me. It still does.

I had resolved to protect myself from these fears. How? Well, I had pondered this for years prior to my son, and I had determined to "hedge" my losses should I endure one. Translation: I used to believe that the more children I had, the more bearable a loss, illness, or incapacity of a single child would be. I thought I could intellectualize and ration my love. I was wrong.

Although my son is healthy, and although I do not know how many more children my body can bare, my son's first year has taught me this:

Having a child is giving myself to God, losing my sense of power. In return, God gives me an appreciation for the daily mundanes that I have never before felt. God shares Himself in a way I have never before understood. And I lose my sense of "I."

Happy birthday my son, and thank you.