Both sets of my in-laws, almost half of our siblings, and many of our closest friends live out of state, so we host a lot of overnight guests. I cannot overstate how much easier this is now that there are more than two common rooms in our house.  But juggling the kids and jobs and Daniel’s sometimes aggressive travel schedule with the kind of preparation required for hosting houseguests can still be daunting.  Thus, I have embraced being the good-enough hostess.


What does it take to be good enough?  Thankfully, not all that much. 

1. Consistently keep things picked up. Since we listed our former house in the spring, we have tried to hold on to some of the good habits required to keep it show ready.  I am training the kids to pick their toys up before we go downstairs for the day, before nap time/bedtime, and before we leave the house.  So this discipline, paired with the existence of a playroom, makes a big difference.  Now, one toy on the floor does not a clutter emergency make. Keeping the house “picked up” most of the time helps immensely, especially in a neighborhood where people are prone to drop by.  We want to be the kind of people who welcome family and friends for impromptu dinners, happy hours or playdates, and if the house is continually picked up, I don’t have to turn down company because my house is a disaster.  The downside: I am almost constantly cleaning something. 

2. Clean a little at a time. We have no carpet in our current house, just area rugs, tile and old hard wood floors, so I bought a Swiffer Vac to keep up with the dust and dog hair.  I use it on an almost daily basis. Downside: there aren't many times when every inch of my house is clean,  but this also means my house is rarely out of control and I don’t have to spend a whole day or weekend cleaning anymore.  I am okay with the tradeoff.

3. Only deep clean when necessary.  At our house, toilets and tubs are cleaned about once every other week.  Wood floors are swept every couple days. Kitchen surfaces are multiple times daily, rugs and dusting once a week. The point: everything does not require the same cleaning frequency, so embrace it. An example: I clean our unsealed hardwood floors with a vinegar and water solution.  Downside: this is best accomplished on hand and knees.  Upside: I only have to do it once or twice a month at the most because it just doesn’t get very dirty. This is obviously helped by my frequent sweeping, but I can handle it if it’s only every few weeks.

4. Shop and plan with company in mind.  Whether it’s out-of-town company coming for a weekend or more or a spontaneous dinner invite, I like to have the flexibility to be the go-to house.  I plan my meals and shop about a week at a time. I know people who go far less frequently—even once per month!  Though I am impressed, this is not something that would work for me now.  From June to November, we get our produce once weekly, and I just don’t love freezing everything else.  So I plan weekly meals, but with flexibility built in so it’s not a big deal to invite someone over for dinner on a whim.  Keeping a well-stocked pantry and knowing how to cook several meals from scratch and memory helps here, because then it’s not necessary to stick to strict recipes. When guests are coming for a weekend or more, I plan for meals in and out (more in than out, since this enables me to visit with our guests too, instead of chasing my restless toddler around the lobby).  That said, there is also absolutely nothing wrong with a pizza party or takeout.  It's not only about the food.

5. Master a few good breakfast items.  My Connecticut contingent taught me how to brunch, so I typically cook breakfast each morning we have guests (with the exception of long-term stays when I am working—sorry, dear mother-in-law!).  I am not a short-order cook, so one morning might be honey banana oat muffins and yogurt parfaits, another might be cinnamon raisin French toast and turkey bacon, another might be western omelets or biscuits and gravy.  I have a mental block against any sort of breakfast casserole—I have never once accomplished it successfully—but if this is not your Albatross, by all means, cook ahead of time.

6. Create an inviting space. This doesn’t require purchasing more stuff.  Make sure you have seating in multiple rooms (that is, if you have multiple rooms), and outside if possible.  Leave throw pillows and blankets on couches.  Fresh cut flowers, music and candles work wonders.  In the case of impromptu company on a day when the Swiffer isn’t charged (and there are dog hair tumbleweeds blowing across the floor), I hope attention will be drawn to my lemongrass candle and Mason jar of Gerbera daisies and not my lax cleaning schedule.  Or the wall paper on my kitchen ceiling.  You heard me.

7. Let go of the need to be perfect.  I struggle with this one.  I recently had ten people sleeping at my house—some of my very favorite people.  Though I prefer smaller groups that are able to be contained in my guest room with its comfortable bed and flowers on the nightstand to children sleeping on the floor and friends with old comforters on pull-out sofas, the people should stay the focus.  I want them to feel welcome in my home, of course, but mostly I just want them to know they are loved.  And if I am frantically running around picking up toys as their children happily deposit them on the ground, I am not showing my love.  So sit and enjoy your friends.  That’s what they really want anyway.

See how okay I am with imperfection?  This how-to list only has seven items, and it is not bothering me.  At all.

Lately I’ve been itchy in my skin.  I have felt unwanted, unlovable, unattractive…lots of things that start with that prefix.  I went outside—to work, my husband, my mostly nonexistent hobbies—to fix what was an inside job.  And once I realized that, I blushed, ashamed.  I think this was, for me, the effect of turning thirty.

Since sometime in high school, I have been relatively confident.  Not overly so, at least not usually, though I know some would disagree. To me, though, it was automatic.  I was unselfconscious in the most literal interpretation of the word: I didn’t really think about my person, I just operated.  I thought this was normal and had little patience for those whose self esteem did not enable this attitude.  I was irritating.

So now, mostly on the other side of my recent identity crisis, here’s what I’ve learned: It was much easier to be confident then.  A person, like the old me, who asks whether these shorts come in a size zero, is less likely to have body image issues than one with two small children, a full-time job, and four different sizes of jeans in her dresser, none of which really fit.  Back then, I couldn’t have imagined using my current Skin Care Arsenal; I went to bed with my makeup on, far too late at night.  I wouldn’t believe I would have occasion to hear a Victoria’s Secret (probably well meaning) salesperson say, “umm, have you lost a lot of weight recently?” while measuring me.  Attention from random men was annoying and commonplace then.  Now, on the rare instance that this sort of thing happens and it’s not because I have driven off with a sippy cup on my roof or something, it cracks me up. I would be suspicious of it if it weren’t so funny to me.

Getting older is harder than I thought it would be.  But when I mentioned this to a single friend a couple years ahead of me, she said, “But why? You have a great job and a beautiful family.”  It occurred to me that, for her, turning thirty was a whole other thing. To her, it was a stick to measure her personal life against, and she wasn’t where she had thought she would be. At thirty I am married to a man I love far more than I did on our wedding day five years ago who walks alongside me as we raise our two healthy, bright, and hilarious daughters.  I have the type of job that is called a career.  I am beyond grateful for all these things and aware that there are also many other things I thought I’d be by now but am not.  I guess, now that I realize what my confidence was back then—blissfully effortless—I wish it were that again. It isn’t.  I don’t know that it ever will be.

Confidence to me, now, is both quieter and louder, bolder and more humble. It is learning to mother my kids without second guessing everything, without feeling like I have to explain my choices.  It is owning my decisions.  It is working in a male dominated workplace without being passive or shy.  It is not comparing what I have, what I look like, where I am. It is treating others with kindness; investing in them wherever I find myself regardless of who they are and what it looks like. It is cutting my hair however I want, wearing what makes me comfortable, even if it’s so last year, and taking care of myself for myself, not only for the benefit of my husband and kids.  It is choosing who gets my limited time and efforts without being bullied into commitments and relationships that are only draining.  It is embracing my relationship with God and its implications in my life and community without being a slave to what someone else has told me it should look like.  It is learning what it really means to love, without condition or reservation, without a backup plan.

Sure, it is lines and marks on my face that weren’t there ten or even five years ago, inches unintentionally lost or gained, fewer shopping trips or followed trends, and, sadly, many fewer new pairs of shoes.  But it is also real, untidy relationships and the power to express and take responsibility for my thoughts and needs.  It is the maturity to realize that compassion is not for the weak.  It is learning to let go of the need to have it all figured or settled, becoming comfortable with the silences. And I am thankful for another year of being a work in process.