I have previously written that I sometimes think my children conspire against me and my efforts to keep a nice house. But, on a recent trip home to visit our family in Buffalo, I learned that their efforts are not just concentrated in our home but in the homes of others as well.
My brother and sister-in-law very recently moved into their brand new 4800 square foot house. It is stunning. No detail has been overlooked. It’s the kind of house that makes it sad to go home to your own house which you thought was perfectly fine before you left. It’s decorated in soft colours with beautiful dark hardwood and light carpet under foot. The family room is particularly beautiful. It is done is shades of white. White chairs, a white couch, white ottomans and white carpet. I’m sure you can see where this is going.
Now, my in laws are not without children. They have a daughter the same age as our youngest. But let’s be clear here. One daughter, a first daughter, is not the same as having multiple children of various ages. Our youngest is a wild animal compared to her cousin. It’s like comparing the Tasmanian devil to a fairy princess. What I’m really saying is that they still actually have control and rules over their daughter where we’re just happy if no one is crying.
After taking my first tour of their newly finished ‘palace’ and sharing my admiration the first clue that things were to go awry showed itself. I could hear screams of delight slightly muffled by the sound of plastic wheels being shuffled along the hardwood floors. Now, at our house, our plasma cars have their own race track that winds its way around our main floor. The proof is in the permanent marks left on our very nice laminate flooring. On instinct, I practically dove in front of the Barbie car that my niece was being recklessly pushed around on like an Indy car driver. I was terrified to look and see what damage had been done. Thankfully, this hardwood was apparently more durable then our lovely laminate and the kids were given the go ahead to carry on.
Over dinner, my two daughters were seated at their cousin’s very charming Pottery Barn table and chair set for children. My anxiety began climbing when the pushing started. And it was my youngest that was to blame. Back and forth, back and forth, again over the hardwood floors went the table. I told them to stop a hundred times. Eric, are you seeing this??? I would later see my sister in-law subtly inspecting the floor underneath the table. I was too afraid to ask if there were any marks.
Then, the return to dinner. You see, my children can never just finish their meal in one sitting. Oh no. They leave and come back to the table several times before the meal is officially over. This is when things took a really bad turn. Again, it was my youngest. She crawled up to island where the grownups were eating and helped herself to some more pizza. She then climbed down and headed for the family room. Now, when I say family room, I don’t mean my family. Oh no, this family room was not designed for this family.
It all happened so fast. One minute she was beside us with pizza sauce on her face and the next she was running faster than Usain Bolt and she was headed straight for the white, very expensive, brand new chair (did I mention the chair is white?). Eric’s attempt to catch her was futile. We all just watched in horror as she dove face first into the white seat cushion. A gasp could be heard from the mouths of all four adults. Why did we order pizza? It was a reckless decision.
We immediately went into action. I was on the ipad googling any tips for cleaning pizza sauce off of a white, very expensive, brand new chair. My sister-in-law was working like a trauma doctor in an emergency room, trying desperately to save the life of the fabric. Once we realized we had done all that we could, we just waited for the cushion to dry to see if it was going to make it. My sister-in-law was very gracious considering inside she probably wanted to kill all of us.
I want to be welcome into the homes of others, three children and all. But are we only safe in worn out shabby homes like ours? Places where the carpet and furniture were once new too but have been maimed in the battle of living with children who believe every room in the house is a dining space. This would exclude us from a lot of lovely homes and the homes of a lot of lovely people. Or maybe we just continue being us, grimy hands and faces and all, and continue counting on the graciousness of our hosts who make us feel comfortable even under the circumstances described above.
The next day, I asked my brother-in-law how the white, expensive, new cushion was doing and he said you couldn’t see it at all…well, my sister-in-law still could but she was really looking. I felt a flood of relief that we had not permanently ruined the chair. The relief left as quickly as it came when he added that she was more upset about the purple yogurt on the walls and carpet that she found once we had left. Great.
