I felt bad.
Bad because our house is messy and I hide that. I do straighten our house before most people come over. And I do light a couple of candles and wipe off the counters and set out some coffee and cream and margaritas (this is Texas, after all) on a big wicker tray and try to throw some cookies in the oven. And while there's nothing wrong with making your place inviting for other people, there is something wrong with never letting people see the messes, too. Our house is not perfect, and many days I feel like a hot mess of a wife and mother. Some days, I would rather paint or spray glue in a can on doilies or try to make a quilt or go swimming in the river than clean. About an hour ago, our house looked like this.
|Clean laundry on the dining table. For two days. Have I mentioned that I HATE folding clothes?|
|Don made breakfast this morning while I slept in. Mama like.|
|Beer and puffs? Classy!|
|Sometimes this counter is just an array of random junk.|
Anyway, I don't want to give the impression that we are something other than what we are. We are messy. Just needed to get that off my chest.