Home is Where the Dust Bunnies Breed
I love my home, I really do, but sometimes it feels… weird. Not like ghosts live here (that would be ok, but I’ve never felt any sort of presence except peace and artistic energy here!) but like the house makes us look *like weirdos.* Something about the plants, the sticks, the fossils, the feathers, the bugs in jars, the random stuff, the dust, shelves of books, piles of books, so many musical instruments all over the place…
the broken, mismatched furniture, the peeling ceiling, the pencil drawings on walls, the quotes painted on the walls (and poems on the ceiling,) the lack of hidden storage, the wool roving floofing everywhere, the vast quantities of yarn in every room…
vases of long-dead flowers, clutter, piles of too-beautiful-to-burn logs for kids to play with, art supplies, discarded drawings and paper *everywhere,* rabbits, cats, dogs, house spiders and humans all living in harmony…
a kitchen full of dirty dishes and garlic and sourdough starters and rising bread and baking cookies (which aren’t made by a tidy 1950s housewife, they are made by messy teenagers) and more dust and more rabbits and Donovan’s version of “Brother Sun, Sister Moon” playing on the speaker…
You guys, what is this funhouse?!?
Over the next few weeks we are expecting various visitors, some for the first time, and I admit I’m a little nervous. I can’t change who I am, I don’t really want to change how we dwell here, but I’m greatly lacking self confidence when it comes to outsiders stepping over the threshold into a home that feels far from “the norm.” Like… really far, lol. I’ve been watching reels of people cleaning their houses after their kids go to bed, and you guys, it’s intense! These people have so many shiny surfaces and so much glass and they clean it all every night! And they have these special drink refrigerators where they have perfectly organized assortments of canned beverages. WHAT!? When people come to my house they have some choices, but the choices are hot tea, hot coffee (in mugs that may need a dusting before use) or water. And the water, I’m sorry to say, is lukewarm from the Berkey filter and we don’t have ice. Sorry! But am I sorry? Sometimes if we’re feeling playful we make ice in our cute flower ice cube tray, but that’s like 12 ice cubes. And there are 7 people in our family. That’s not even two ice cubes per person! I guess we just aren’t an ice family!
I oscillate between feeling really super confident in my own self (when I’m all alone and not paying attention to the clutter) and my personal home style, and feeling mortified that anyone knows me. On good days I sit looking at the scratched up wooden floors and baskets of Waldorf dolls while someone is pounding out songs on the piano and another is decorating the rooms with paper chains and I think “this is home. This is THE BEST.” In a slight mood shift I go looking for matches and gasoline.
At the end of the day, I know that I’ll never be a top notch housekeeper. I accept that my countertops, corners and windowsills will always be full of displaced objects, stray books, and jars of yard flowers. And as time passes and I know this more deeply to be part of who I am, my acceptance of self begins to grow. I can see ways I could and should improve to keep a baseline level of clutter (for example: this morning I found a stash of reusable bags that literally no one uses—they had been wadded up and forgotten between a coal bucket full of yarn and the shelf of library books. I removed them and put them with the rest of the reusable bags! Winning!) but overall, I’m really ok with how my house is. I find that my cleaning is more if “sprucing up”—changing couch pillows, moving sheepskins, regrouping toys in fresh little baskets. And you know what? It works for me. Because I’m learning that “clean” does not equate “home.” Home is the feeling you get from a place, not the shininess of the glass table inserts, and it is among my plants, music, and kids’ trash crafting that I feel the most truly at home, even if the space surrounding that feeling is somewhat “weird.”
My observation after living in a home that may tend towards the shabby rather than shabby chic is that people are comfortable where there is good food and laughter, and they don't have to panic if they spill something on the couch. I just got back from visiting a dear, dear friend from high school who has a very modern very spotless house. Of course, they knew we were coming, but you can't get this kind of clean in my house---and I clean my house a lot, but the bird books are out because you can't put those away and then have to search for them when you want to identify a backyard bird, and there's lots of blanket scattered around to minimize the dog hair on the couch but that doesn't really work because we all just sit on the dog hair blankets. I have another friend whose home is straight up a pottery barn catalogue, it's beautiful, but I have never felt relaxed in either of these places, but their children have told me how much they love coming to my house. One of their adult daughters raves about how happy and relaxed she feels in my home---with the mismatched candles and the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and the books and magazines and stuff. I know there are people that find stuff stressful and they want things tidy and that's perfectly fine if that's what brings them joy, but those are not people from my tribe. My 24 year old son was helping put up a fence and found some interesting rocks and brought them in to show me and they're not sitting in a plastic bin on the book shelf in my bedroom, because even though he's 24, I can't get rid of the cool rocks my kid gave me! I have done some deep cleaning on occasion, and it is very satisfying, but I am 60 years old and until recently we were empty nesters. Trying to keep things spotless when you have children at home is a Sisyphean task that just makes you irritated with your family all the time.
I follow you on Insta, too, & was recently telling someone (again - yes, I’ve done it more than a couple of times) about my “friend”, who also has a daughter Elka, & whose pictures of her home always make me want to join her at her kitchen table for a chat & hot tea/coffee while the kids all do their thing, or in her living room where I still hold my tea cup, but she & her Elka make music. Your home looks like just what my spirit needs to slow down & enjoy fellowship & communion.
I used to be one of those who puts the kids to bed at 8 & makes the house perfect so that I can stare at it “perfect” for an hour or so before going to bed. (Often while grumbling in my mind towards my ex-stepmother of my middle school & early high school years who made us keep her house picture perfect 24/7 & who labeled me “irresponsible” & “a mess”. “Look at me now! Take that!” I would grumble.) Our eldest is 21, youngest is 3, & all 10 were born every even year from ‘02-2020. It has taken me a long time to not condemn myself for not making my house “perfect” for people who don’t live here. And yet, I hosted my BIL, his kids, his sister & her husband & daughter, & my BIL’s dad for Thanksgiving last year. Their dad, a recent widower said that our home made him feel the most peaceful he had in awhile & that he was so glad he had come. My 21yo had a friend over this week. They were chatting in my eldest’s room with the 15yo, as well. I went in to ask if they would like dinner? In their room? Or in the dinning room… messy dining room? The friend replied, “Messy dining rooms are my favorite kind!”
So, I am learning more and more everyday that our visitors really do Love us & really do prefer being in our real spaces, not our perfect “company is coming!!” facades.
Enjoy your visitors, fellowship, & communion. Wish I were there ❤️