I Love You, Come Into My Messy House

Undies
I met her during a most unglamorous time in my life. Our boys were both 3 and our girls were 1. Our first conversation happened in the narrow, diaper bag-laden preschool hallway. It was September; the first week of the new school year. 

I flagged her down because her son's underwear had gotten sent home in M1's preschool backpack sometime in the spring of the last school year. Better late than never, the definitely now too-small undies were returned to their rightful owner. She was funny and sweet and we laughed about the mix-up.

M1; Preschool Halloween Party: "I want to be a FootMan" 

It took a long time to figure out he meant "football player"

A few weeks later, I saw her at the gym. It was the blissful once-a-week day when both kids were in school for a few hours. I hopped on the treadmill next to her. At this point, we barely knew each other. 

"You're a runner, right?"
"Yeah, but I can't run right now. I just had surgery."

Maybe it comes from being an only child or maybe I'm just naturally reserved, but I didn't tend share the inner details of my life with many people. I couldn't believe I had just blurted out something so personal. The cardio room got very hot.

Then my dear Undie Mamma friend looked over at me. "I'm walking too," she said. "I just had a miscarriage." 

As we walked, she told me the still-raw story of a very wanted third pregnancy and her joy over the news. A family of 5! Then she and her husband went to the 12-week scan...the one where the baby finally looks like a baby. 

Except...there was just a portrait in profile on the ultrasound. A still image.

"I had never seen my him cry before that," she confessed, sharing how hard her husband took the news. 

A Mama's Lonely Afternoon with Little Kids

(sorting dried beans to keep busy)

My House is a Disaster
The first time I went to her house, our boys had been playing outside after preschool. Everyone else had left; moms of older ones rushed to catch the afternoon elementary school bus, and others left for dinner prep. ("Imagine," we marveled, "Our kids riding the bus someday!")

I can't remember how it happened. Maybe a baby got fussy, maybe it got darkish, or coldish, or rainy. "Why don't y'all just come over to my house. It'll just be easier." 

She texted me her address. Then another text..."Oh, shoot. My house is such a disaster. Please don't judge. Just come over and ignore the mess."

I'm used to people telling me their house is a mess. It's almost a knee-jerk, apologetic response whenever anyone steps into a new place. As expected as a handshake or a hug: "Please excuse the mess." It typically means that the pillows aren't lined up, or there are a few dishes in the sink or (gasp!) a shoe in the hallway. Maybe a piece of mail on the hallway table.  

This house, though...it was a royal freaking mess.

M1 and M2

These years were so exhausting

It was 4:00 and the bacon was still in the frying pan from the morning. On the counter sat half bowls of now lifesaver-sized cheerios, saturated with milk. A Roomba, still boxed in the corner, served as a base for an impressive mound of laundry. ("My mom gave it to me for my birthday a few months ago. It's probably a hint.") There were kids' art projects on her desk, overflowing boxes for charity in the foyer...kitchen...hallway. 

“Shit...it’s worse than I thought.  I haven't been home all day. I forgot what it looked like.”

I immediately loved her. I loved that she wanted our boys to be friends. I loved her sense of humor. Most of all, I loved that messy house, because it meant that she cared most about being a good friend. What her house looked like and what I might think of her was a distant afterthought. I was honored that M1, M2 and I were worthy of this sort of vulnerability on her part. 

It was a gorgeous mess; one that said, "I'm welcoming you into my life and I love you enough not to clean it up".

The Village
In time, our preschool village grew. Many of us had husbands who worked late, so Undie Mama would say, "Why don't y'all just stay for dinner because it'll just be EASIER. Trust me, it's not a problem. It'll just make everything super simple. I'll throw 12 burgers on the grill instead of 4. They can play, we can talk."

It wasn't unusual for her to flag down all families who were still standing cul-de-sac at 5:00. (It's easier to order 7 pizzas instead of 1.) She would call to her her new Finnish neighbors, still shaky on their English, that they should come over for pizza too because it's just easier for everyone.

Easier? Why work though months of awkwardness breaking through a language barrier? She would say it's easier, and I learned that indeed it is. Easier to be a friend, easier to extend a hand, easier to hold a crying baby so a friend can nap. "Just leave the dishes to me and get your kiddos to bed," she would say. "It'll just be so much easier for everyone."

M3; always crying, always nursing

This is when I learned the secret of her beautiful, messy house. She was so busy giving, all the time. Giving to friends, organizing Teacher Appreciation Week, donating to charity, and running carpool. She cared the least about a clean home and the "first impression" that this might bring, and the most about finding the true people who don't give a crap about a messy house and care more about being loved enough to be invited in. 

Moving Forward
Looking back, it feels like that whole era came and went overnight, yet also took several lifetimes to pass. Bellies grew, babies came. Babies cried, and we nursed them without needing to hide in the bathroom. Oldest kids left the preschool and started kindergarten. One momma started a catering business and we threw a gigantic party.  Little by little, the new babies stopped coming, and we became the Elementary School Bus Moms. Friends moved away and we grieved. 

M1 and M2
M2's Preschool Graduation 

My messy house mama's kids are older now and her house is actually pretty orderly. Diapers are long-gone, and so are the big ride-on toys. I suppose all good things must come to an end. Last spring, M3 (our mama village's youngest baby) had her preschool graduation. Everyone's kids went to different schools, and it was time to start again with new friends. 

This time, I greet new friends with a messy house. Sometimes it's a literal pile of dirty socks, but more often it's about being open about parenting and health challenges, or admitting to my latest absentmindedness. I am unapologetic. I try, by example, to encourage friends to do the same.

At the end of the day, there isn’t much out there that’s really all that scandalous or worthy of stuffing in a drawer, particularly if you’re in the company of a real friend or just a decent human being. Nobody should have to frantically scrub counters and stuff clutter into the closet before someone shows up. 

If they judge your mess, then they’re probably not worth it anyway...particularly if your mess is there because you are busy making other people feel good. After all...isn’t friendship—the true, deep, worthwhile kind, also worth letting people in (even for the messy crap?)