My house is a mess, love me anyway; read the text message I sent to my friends before they came over for a Moms Night In to sip sangria and sit by the pool. I figured we wouldn’t be in the house much and they were my friends they wouldn’t care.
It wasn’t as if my house was purposely messy, whose house is? But it had been one of those days where my well-meaning plans of picking up had gotten side tracked by a toddler who just wanted her mom nearby all day long.
And I live with a family of mess makers. They leave socks on the living room floor, projects unfinished on the dining room table and piles of papers. They walk past laundry baskets that are filled to the brim, waiting to be put away. They leave piles of paper throughout the house. They lay down on the couch and in their wake leave pairs of socks, shoes, cups of water and a plate filled with snacks.
And I know I’m to blame too. I’m a keeper of clutter. My office shows it. I save paper and notes and brochures all on the thought that, some day I’ll get back to them.
So on days when the toddler is being a toddler, the clutter has to wait. But I hope that when you walk in my door you see my smile and not the pile of toys that litters the living room. I hope you see the glass of wine I poured and not the pile of mail that has taken over the counter. I hope we talk and laugh and that you are having too much fun to notice that my dining room table is a drop zone for everything or that there is a sock on the floor because my dog insists on running around the house with them in his mouth.
I hope you understand that my life is messy and it’s not changing anytime soon. And I’m certain that if we are to be friends you already know that because your life is a little messy too.
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