Say YES to the Mess!

Over quarantine and this last year+ of “pandemicness”, our normally messy house has had the chance to become RIDICULOUSLY entrenched in mess.

Clutter that would normally get cleared after a few days has evolved into seemingly semi-permanent structures and piles. (Only “semi” because it occasionally falls over if it gets high enough.) A messy side-of-my bed has become piles of packaging and kid toys and wrapping paper and clothes I’m sorting through or just not putting away. A pile here and there of craft supplies has grown into craft, and school, and art class supplies for 2 kids doing school at home.

A kitchen floor that would get mopped every week or so hasn’t seen a mop in SO long that I don’t even know where the mop is. Maybe in the basement somewhere?

Despite a basket bought to contain them, the bathroom has become overrun with toys turned into “tub toys.” I routinely clear cups, game pieces, and action figures that have been swimming in the sink from the tiny vanity.

And the next day they magically re-appear.

I pick up wrappers, and cups, and socks, and drawing implements, and plates. I sort laundry, break down boxes, wash sinks full of dishes, put shoes away. I fold blankets, take out recycling, put dvds back in their cases. I put nature (sticks, rocks, leaves) back outdoors. I return books to bookshelves. I wipe up spills. I discard toddler-pilfered food of which I find the remains. Wipe down sticky counters.

And yet the house is always a MESS.

This isn’t a humblebrag post. “Omg you guys, my glamorous neutral-toned half a million dollar home with waxed marble floors is such a MESS cuz the 10 foot long dining table has a plate setting on it, tee hee! And lolz, there’s totally a fingerprint!”

No, it’s legit messy.

We could talk about why, or learn the methods of fly ladies, or recommend hiring cleaners, or utilizing organizational systems. We could blame my kids (please feel free) or me for not teaching them responsible chore doing as soon as they could hold their heads up. We could yell at the patriarchy or blame Better Homes and Gardens for brainwashing us to think clean homes are just, like, the standard.

Or we could blame my dad. Hmm…

You see, Dad is one of those guys. His home – my childhood home – is as neat as a pin. Floors are always freshly swept, mopped, or vacuumed. He doesn’t let dishes sit on the table and has them washed before the final music plays on Jeopardy starts. He putzes around to “keep busy” but everything has a place, but he has routines and ways and it serves him and his home well.

It may sound like this bothers me, but no. Not even remotely. He errs on the side of tightly wound, but I admire his ability to do this! Despite feeling like my kids and I might descend on his home and destroy it (admittedly, that can be stressful), it also feels like HOME.

Neat. Orderly. Safe.

Comfortable.

In the rare moments my home is spruced up (mostly in the pre-pandemic days), I just feel like I can breathe. It feels predictable, tidy, user-friendly.

It feels like Dad’s approval – if he’s relaxed, I’m relaxed.

It feels like a place I’m proud of; a place where I feel welcome and want to welcome other people into.

Which brings us to Crappy Dinners.

In mid-2017, we moved back to my home state of Michigan, though we landed in a new-to-me area. I was lucky to connect, pretty early on, with a friend. Through the larger Lutheran circle, we had about a million friends in common and soon hit it off pretty nicely ourselves.

And because we knew that, at a certain age (that is, OUR age), meeting people (and really getting to KNOW people deeply) can be hard, we decided to do something about it.

We started taking turns hosting monthly dinners, both of us inviting people we kind of knew or had met in the area, in hopes that those friendships could deepen, strengthen, and blossom.

The condition?

Attendees needed to be okay with – even embrace – CRAPPY.

No, this doesn’t mean we serve fish every month (as a few people have seriously asked).

It’s the concept of Crappy.

We try, radically, to come as we are. Crap, and all. And if we’re hosting, we try not to do the marathon cleaning sessions and meal planning and place setting and preparing thing that exhausts people, unnerves people, and stops them from ever actually trying to get together in the first place.

The premise is that if we can come, or host, without our anxieties running the show, we’re less likely to spend our time and energy being “perfect hosts” and instead, we’ll spend time investing in real friendships.

So that said….

We eat potluck style.

Attendees strive NOT to slave over bringing the perfect dish.

Kids will be running around, potentially loudly.

The TV might be on.

We’ll eat off paper plates.

We’ll bring something prepped but finish cooking it in our host’s kitchen.

We’ll eat on the porch, or in the living room – wherever there‘s space.

We’ll focus on building our connections.

We don’t apologize for the mess.

The last one is probably the hardest for me. Oh how I want the house to be clean, for things to appear tidy, calming, safe … but the truth is, it probably won’t be.

But I still need friendships. Relationships.

And I’m worthy of having them even if there’s a mystery smell in my house, or my oven hasn’t been cleaned in months, and the laundry baskets waiting to be folded and emptied are permanent fixtures.

And I’m telling you all about our Crappy Dinners because … for the first time in (counts quickly) 15 months of socially distanced pandemic life, I think, we’re getting ready to try coming back together next month.

Sure, there are things to consider: should we ask vaccinated folks only? Should we plan to be outside only? How do we potluck in a safer way?

But for me (and maybe some others), there’s also getting back into the mindset that it’s really truly OK – even a wonderful holy thing – to come as we are, and host as we are.

As I thought about how to craft our welcome back to Crappy Dinner online invite, I searched images for our banner photo.

Yup, Google did not assuage my nerves as I thought about what it would be like to welcome people back into my dwelling. My very lived-in dwelling. My very granola ground into the carpet dwelling.

Google’s version of “casual” does not compute with my reality.

In fact, the other night, as I dreamt about seeing my best friend and her family. We’re actually planning on seeing each other later this summer for the first time in over 2 years, and oh my – especially after pandemic-life – what a sweet reunion it will be!

But my subconscious was ready to claim otherwise.

In my dream, Dana’s children – like little anthropologists – marveled at their culture shock over the state of our dwelling and our customs and in our bizarre ways of being. Dana kindly told them that even though our carpets were full of crushed corn chips and cereal pieces, we were actually loving and good people. Dana’s husband offered to teach us how to do dishes, of course, in the most friendly and affable way.

Omg subconscious. 🙄

Yeah. I clearly have some shame baggage in this area, and am a work in progress in accepting the mess that is mine.

I know the right people – the people who love me and get me and see me – love me as I am. My best friend does. Our Crappy dinner friends do. Their love is not dependent on how recently my floor has been mopped or how thick the clutter has gotten.

My messy house doesn’t mean I’m bad. Or lazy. Low-class. A bad mom.

It means my house is messy. That’s it.

It is in our vulnerability to come as we are – messy, imperfect, uncomfortable – that we show ourselves. Without conditions, without pretenses. Those moments have the potential to connect us, and build lifelong friendships.

They also allow us to connect with – and have compassion for – the parts of ourselves where we hold shame and anxiety.

We need both of those things, don’t we?

I may never “embrace the chaos” as much as I hope I will, but at this age – and also in the light of what we’ve dealt with in the last 15 months or so – I also don’t want to spend all my energy fighting against what IS.

I’ll practice saying YES to the mess because it benefits my building authentic relationships with others, and with myself.

I’ll practice extending grace to myself and others.

I’ll practice not judging myself or other.

I’ll focus on connecting and seeing the ways we’re all the same.

…Come as I am, come as you are!