Perfect Holidays: Hostess with the... Mostest?

The week before Thanksgiving, Hearts at Home hosted its monthly "No More Perfect Moms" blog hop. The topic was a fitting "No More Perfect Holidays" theme. In the pre-Thanksgiving bustle, I skipped out on this one. (I blame my therapist, whose has been successfully encouraging me to lower my expectations, especially of myself). So this is my belated No More Perfect holidays post.

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Shortly following a family gathering, my sister-in-law sent me an email in which she complimented my sense of hospitality.

My first thought… She must be thinking of someone else.

Me? Hospitality? Really?

I had always equated a good sense of hospitality with the “Hostess with the Mostest” type. The scent of the candles matches the season and the decorations are perfectly coordinated - beautiful place settings, matching serving dishes, plate chargers (and if you don’t know what a charger is, keep reading. This is for you).

These women make great hostesses because their commitment to their guests’ experience is apparent in their effort. They have handmade centerpieces and homemade pies. They bustle around non-stop, making sure the drinks stay full and the food keeps coming. Their creative extras add a lot to the party atmosphere, and the fancy touches are endearing. Their parties are so festive. And so fun.

And that's so not me.

Hosting events can be intimidating when you don’t have a Pinterest-worthy flare. It’s tough to host a fall gathering when you’ve been to a party where the soup was served in hollow pumpkins. It’s hard to be proud of cupcakes topped with plain sprinkles after you’ve been to a party where the cupcakes had Minnie Mouse ears. (Think oreo halves and pink sugar bows. Adorable). When you have Martha-Stewart-types friends and family members, it’s easy to feel like everything you do pales in comparison.

Hospitality was a quality I admired in other women, but it’s definitely never been on my list of my own personal strengths. My china is boxed up in the basement; my gravy boat has never been used; and I don’t own a set of napkin rings or plate chargers. (For those still wondering, they’re decorative plates that you put underneath your real plates. Yeah, I don’t get it either). I don’t have much of an eye for decorating, and I don’t use seasonal centerpieces. I prefer to keep things simple.

So what’s to compliment about that?

If you’re one of those women with over-the-top festive flare, that’s awesome. We admire your effort, we envy your creativity, and we have a great time at your parties. But I’m starting to learn that just as much as people appreciate all-out festive fun, they also appreciate the simple, calm, and casual. There’s no need to worry about breaking one of my dishes or spilling red wine on my white tablecloth. (The dishes were cheap and there is no tablecloth). No need to offer to help me in the kitchen. Let’s have fun. I’ll get the mess later.

I come from a “come on in and grab a beer” kind of family, and I’m proud of that. Matt and I host gatherings all the time, despite my mismatched dinnerware and lack of napkin rings. We don’t buzz around for hours beforehand making sure everything is spotless and perfect. We create a “make yourself at home” setting that is nice enough to be welcoming and relaxed enough to comforting. And we’ve discovered that people have just as much fun without plate chargers.

So if you’re next in line to host the big family Christmas, don’t feel like you have to spend hours on Pinterest finding the perfect recipes and creating the perfect table setting. People will appreciate you for whichever kind of hostess you are. A good sense of hospitality goes deeper than what people see when they walk in the door. It’s really about how they feel when they walk out.

Have a merry (and stress-free) Christmas! 

So God Made a Mother

By far, my favorite Super Bowl commercial this year was the Dodge Ram ode to farmers. After almost five years of marriage to the son of a hardworking, self-giving, family-honoring farmer, each line touched my heart with words that are all too true. As I listened, I couldn’t help noticing the many parallels between the cultivators of crops and livestock and the nurturers of children and families. So I decided that we moms deserve our own version...
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And on the eighth day, God looked down on his planned paradise and said, "I need a caretaker." So God made a mother.

God said, "I need somebody willing to get up before dawn, fold laundry, wash dishes, work all day, fold more laundry, wash more dishes, eat a cold supper, give baths, read stories, stay up past midnight, and then do it all again tomorrow." So God made a mother.

God said, "I need somebody willing to sit up all night with a newborn baby and embrace the tears of exhaustion because she knows that she will one day dry her eyes and smile as she reflects on the bonds created through those long nights. I need somebody who can play the same games and sing the same songs every day for hours on end and who has endless uses for cardboard tubes, popsicle sticks, and ice cube trays. Who, during each of her children’s first 18 years, will finish her 40-hour week by Tuesday noon and then, tired but willing, put in the remaining 128 hours." So God made a mother.

God said, "I need somebody strong enough to set reasonable limits and instill self-discipline, yet gentle enough to dry tears and kiss boo-boos and nurture them through their fevers, who will give up her one free hour to snuggle with the child who’s still afraid of the dark."

I need somebody who will be fair and consistent and lead by example. Somebody to share, care, protect, provide, and teach, and learn, and hug, and hold, and give unselfishly, and love unconditionally. Somebody who threads her family together with enduring bonds of unity, who would laugh, and then sigh and then reply with tears of pride when her daughter says that she wants to spend her life doing what Mom does. So God made a mother.

This is a Bigger Picture moment.
Join us today at Brook's place!

You Know You're a Mom If...

If you've ever answered the door looking like this...

If your living room looks like this...

If your toilet paper is rolled like this...
















If you open kitchen drawers and find things like this...

If your camera is filled with pictures like this...















If your Friday nights look like this...















If your Sunday mornings look like this...

And if you do it all because of moments like this...

Smiles like this...















Bonds like this...

And love like this...

Because even when the job seems small,
you know that your purpose is so very big.

Lessons from a Tiny Farmhouse

I just wrote the date at the top of a check and I realized it has been over a month since our move. I paused to think about all the luxuries I’ve been enjoying for the past few weeks – things like my basement, garage, dishwasher, linen closet, and pantry. I thought about how great it’s been to have plenty of storage space, room to exercise, and a guest bedroom for friends and family to visit. Then I thought about all the time I spent in our old house wondering if I would ever have those things and complaining about all the little inconveniences. Now, as I sit here in our new house, I look back and wonder how many moments were wasted on worry and how many memories didn’t get cherished because I was too busy longing for something better.

I recently returned to our old house to clean for the new renters to move in. Although our possessions are gone, each room still holds signs of our presence. There are marks on the bathroom wall from Matt knocking down the towel bar after almost every shower. There’s a faded silhouette from the wall art that hung above Reese’s crib: “Angels danced the day you were born.” And on the closet door in our old bedroom is one tiny handprint that I never could bring myself to wipe away.

As I cleaned each room, I thought about all the things we will never do in that house again. Some of the memories are ones I always knew I would cherish, like the nights we fell asleep together on the couch, the mornings when Matt’s parents came over for coffee, and the day we brought our new baby home from the hospital. Then there are the memories that seemed like such an inconvenience at the time; memories I never stopped to cherish but now wish I had. Like the times we raced down to Matt’s parents’ house in the pouring rain to wait out a tornado warning; or the times when we would both get up in the middle of the night to search the kitchen for a noisy cricket; or all the times we played “Scissors, Paper, Rock” to see who would be hand-washing the dishes that day. At the time, I never thought I would someday stand in that kitchen and cry because there were no more dishes to wash or crickets to smash.

It’s so easy to assume that we won’t miss something until the moment we realize that it’s in the past forever. Now I miss fogging crickets and scrubbing pots just as much as I miss rocking Reese in middle of the night, or her tiny fetal limbs jabbing my ribs. I miss those things as much as I might someday miss the long drive to town or the wood floors that seem to need sweeping every five minutes; or the way I’ll miss Reese’s constant dependency the day she no longer needs me to dress her, feed her, and change her.

As I get settled in this next phase of my life, I hope I always remember to hold the aggravating moments just as dear as the joyous moments. I hope for a renewed ability to find humor in the wake of frustration. I hope to spend less time worrying about my new inconveniences like the half-hour drive to town and my sudden inability to keep my home spotless, and I hope to spend more time enjoying the many blessings our new house provides. And most of all, I hope I stop in the midst of those aggravated sighs, frustrated eye rolls, and irritated scowls, and listen to the voice in my head that says, “Someday you will miss this.” That way, when someday comes, I won't stand in my empty kitchen and cry because I missed out on some of it. Instead I'll stand there and smile knowing that I fully lived all off it.

Here's to new beginnings. Happy 2012!

The Blessing of a Lifetime

We made a lot of sacrifices when we became a single income family, but the hardest one was not being able to buy our own house. We have been renting a small farmhouse from Matt's parents for the past three and a half years and we often wondered if we would ever be in a position to own. Even when I was working, we passed up several opportunities to buy because we knew it would jeopardize my ability to stay home. When Matt got hired at his new job, we thought maybe we could finally afford a house. We knew it would still be a bit of a stretch and I might have to work part-time to make ends meet, but we decided to start looking.

That was six months ago. We started the process by saying a lot of prayers. We asked God to keep us open-minded, level-headed, and patient. We asked Him not to let us get carried away with unrealistic expectations and to steer us away from anything above our means. We asked Him to keep us hopeful when deals fell through and humble if we ever did succeed. And if all that wasn't too much to ask, we jokingly threw in a request for a nice ranch-style home out in the country with lots of trees and a big master bathroom - the vision of the dream house Matt and I created when we first got married, but knew we could probably never afford.
 
Next, we had to decide on a price range and we came up with three possibilities: (1) what we could afford if I didn't work at all; (2) what we could afford if I worked part-time; and (3) what we couldn't afford. We always checked the price of new listings before we looked at anything else. We figured there was no point in falling in love with anything in range number three. Finally, we had to pick a location. We knew we wanted to move closer to Matt's work and we love the small towns and the schools in that area. Unfortunately, there aren't many houses for sale at any given time in a school district full of such small towns. We didn't find much at all in our price range. Over six months, we saw only 4 houses.

We never got discouraged, though. We put all our faith in God and we both believed with 100% certainty that He would provide for us, just as He always has. We even fell in love with one house, but we encountered obstacles with the seller (it was a FSBO listing) and we were very uncertain about the price because it would have been a stretch even if I did work part-time. Since we had agreed not to push past any uncertain feelings, we walked away. We took the obstacles as a sign that it wasn't meant for us. Still, we were disappointed and wondered how it might be possible that anything better could come along.

Then last week, we got a listing for a log cabin. Neither of us has ever been interested in living in a log cabin, and it was almost out of our price range. Still, we felt an urge to go see it, but we didn't know why. Our realtor set up a showing. We hated it. What a waste of time... or so we thought.

The next day, I got an email from our realtor saying that he had driven past a home for sale on his way back from the log cabin. It had only been on the market for a few days. I looked at the price, and it was in price range number one (which meant that I could still stay home full-time). Most of the houses we found in price range number one needed so much work that we couldn't afford the repairs, so I wasn't very hopeful, but I opened the listing anyway and looked at the details. It was brand new (built in 2009) and was easily enough space for us to raise a few kids without ever needing to move again. I was sure this was some kind of mistake. Without skipping a beat (or consulting Matt) I immediately told our realtor to get us in there.

We fell in love the minute we pulled in the driveway. Before we got too excited, I asked our realtor about the price. He's a successful builder in town and a trusted family friend, so we knew he would give us a straight answer. It's a long story, but it turns out that the house is very well built and the price has nothing to do with its condition. The people had to move for personal reasons, and they needed it sold fast. We made an offer last Thursday. An hour later, the house was ours. If all of the inspections go well, we'll be living there by Christmas.

For the past four days we've been walking around in complete disbelief. We feel like we won the lottery. I break down in tears several times a day - tears of joy for this dream come true, tears of gratitude for the Lord who gave us this incredible gift, and tears of confusion as I wonder how we could possibly deserve such an amazing blessing.  By the way, it's a ranch in the country with lots of trees. Oh, and the master bathroom is awesome.

Welcome to My World

After over 3 years of renting a small house on the family farm, we have finally decided to hire a realtor and start house hunting. Although we aren't in a huge hurry to pack our bags and we plan to take our time with the process, it is possible that this was our last summer in this house. And as excited as we are to finally have a place to call our own, we're sad to leave the house where we started our lives together. So in honor of our little town and our tiny farmhouse, here is a snapshot of life on the farm....

If you travel toward the southern end of Interstate 39 in central Illinois, you will pass a small town with no stop lights, no restaurants, and no buildings over 2 stories tall. If you venture down the off ramp, you'll see the bank with one drive-up window and the Casey's General Store where the local farmers get their morning coffee. If you make your way out of town, you'll see miles upon miles of corn and soybean fields. Somewhere among those fields is a little yellow farmhouse with chickens roaming in the yard and a barefoot toddler pushing a stuffed bunny in a miniature stroller. Welcome to my world.

I say that we are farmers, but really it's my in-laws who farm full-time, although Matt does work in the field part-time during the busy times of planting and harvesting.  His parents live in the next house down from us (about a half mile down the road), and his grandma lives in the next house after them. Now, I'm sure you're probably feeling sorry for me for having to live so close to my in-laws, but there are some definite perks - like when Reese was a newborn and Matt's mom would come down just so I could take a shower and start dinner or when having an evening alone is as easy as running the baby next door.

On most mornings, Reese and I head out to play in the yard and I see my father-in-law working out by the machine shed. We wander over to say hi and Reese pretends to drive the tractor. Then we continue up the gravel path toward the chicken house. As soon as the chickens see us they all come running and Reese feeds them our produce and bread scraps from the day before. Then we head back toward the house where I push her in the swing or take her for a ride in the wagon around the edge of the property (which makes up for the days when I skip my workout).  

In the 6 years since I've been with Matt, I've participated in a lot of activities that only happen when you live in a place like this. In the spring we raise a new batch of chickens to butcher, and yes I have participated in the "annual chicken slaughter" where we kill, bag, and freeze about 60 chickens, which means I never buy chicken (or eggs) at the store. It's a big family assembly line (or I should say dis-assembly line), and I love knowing that our meat isn't pumped with hormones or poorly treated (which is well worth a couple days of chicken guts on my hands).

In late summer we harvest the sweet corn at its peak of freshness and we shuck, blanch, and freeze enough corn to last all 3 of our families (us, Matt's parents, and his sister's family) until the next sweet corn season. In the fall, I pick apples from the trees in the yard and I freeze a year's supply of apple sauce and pie filling. The harvest season is usually finished just in time for Matt to get all of his friends together to hunt on his family's property. We usually count on Matt killing at least one deer to supply us with ground meat for the year (deer is incredibly lean and much healthier than beef).   
 
By far though, my favorite thing about living in the country is the separation from the rest of the world. Time just seems to slow down out here (even for someone like me). We don't hear sirens or horns or trains at our house. We hear birds and crickets and motorcycles on leisurely rides. When I stare off into the distance and see only the blue sky and green fields, I find it easier to forget my troubles, quiet my mind, and spend a few minutes with God. Although it can be tough to drive 20 minutes to the next decent-sized town (you don't make a "quick run to the store" out here) and I don't have a lot of neighbors to keep me company during the day, it's well worth the trade-off to be able to roast marshmallows and hot dogs over a bonfire or to sit on the patio with no other houses in sight or to look up at a clear night sky and see every single star. Some people call it the boring-middle-of-nowhere-boondocks. I call it home.

Our Little House

Our house is too small! It's so small that I can vaccuum the living room, master bedroom, and baby's room without relocating the vaccuum's plug. We have one bathroom, no garage, no basement, no dishwasher, and no linen closet. Matt's feet actually hang off the edge of our bed because he is much too tall for a queen size bed but our bedroom isn't big enough for a king. This year we had to section off a portion of our living room to create a nursery for our baby girl. We do have a small upstairs room, but it is not well insulated so we use it as an attic to store the clothes that don't fit in our closet, the food that doesn't fit in the kitchen, and a hodge-podge of other things that don't fit anywhere. When we visit our friends' homes, I often find myself feeling envious of their guest bedrooms, office spaces, and walk-in closets. It just doesn't seem fair.

When I catch myself getting carried away with these thoughts, I feel ashamed. There are so many people in the world without a place to call home - people who would give anything for even a fraction of what I have. What I need to do in those moments is remember to take a step back, count my many blessings, and remember to be thankful for all that I have, not demanding of all that I want. So here are just a few of the things for which I am so grateful: I'm thankful that I can clean my whole house in a very short time, which leaves me more time to do other things I enjoy. I'm thankful that we have such a small living space and that we so often have to be in the same room, which allows us to spend more time together as a family. I'm thankful that we have too much food to fit in the kitchen and too many clothes to fit in one closet. I'm thankful that we didn't let our lack of extra space stop us from expanding our family. Most of all, I'm thankful that we never gave in to the temptations that surrounded us to buy a bigger house (which would have satisfied our desire for nicer things, but would have shattered our dream of being able to raise our children with a parent at home). I'm thankful for our tiny house and all that it has provided for us.

We are young and our marriage is still new, and I hope that as we continue to build a life together we will remember how much we learned and shared and grew closer in our little house. I hope that we raise children who can embrace a simple lifestyle. And I hope that our house is always too small.