I'm Back and I'm Not Sorry

Hello.

I'm back.

It's funny that even with all these communication devices at our finger tips it is immensely hard to find the time to actually communicate.  I can look at pictures of cats as much as my crazy cat-lady heart desires, but when it comes to composing a real email or, <gasp> a blog post,  I just don't really have the time.  I have the time now because I have moved the actual computer with the actual keyboard into the living room, and the two-year-old is set up with watercolors and is making the coffee table her canvas.  Meh, whatever gets her to stop shouting "REEEEEAD TOOOO MEEEE" for 30 seconds.

That brings me to today's topic.  I know a lot of you want to hear about my life in Ireland.  I said I'd blog about all the amazing experiences I'm having here, but I haven't.  I just don't have the motivation.  Life here is a lot like life in the US, only lonelier.  I have managed to connect with a group or two, and I'm trying to host a little get together <gulp> tomorrow.  I'm a little nervous because I'm not like the other women in this group.  They (mostly) all have money and big, beautiful, CLEAN homes.  I don't have any of those things.  I'm writing this blog post now to try to convince myself that, here goes:

I am done apologizing for my home.

I have always been embarrassed by my lack of ability to keep things neat and organized.  Or, rather, not always.  I'd say that in Davis I had friends who didn't care that my house was a mess, but that's not exactly it.  I think it's actually a question of priorities.  My friends in Davis generally lived similar lives to mine.  We were mostly academic wives with small children.  We had no money but plenty of books.  Spending time chained to the couch nursing our kids was more important (and way more fun) than vacuuming.  Blocks, paints, homemade playdough, and baby socks were common living room decor.  This was my posse, the people who understood and didn't need to hear "sorry my house is a disaster" when they came over for playdates or dinner.

I feel like I'm giving my friends in Ireland a raw deal.  I don't mean to imply that women I know here are snobs.  They're not.  They're some of the warmest people around.  They just happen to have clean homes.  At least when I see them.  And good for them, seriously.  This is all about me, feeling like I ought to have a clean home because others do.  If they can find the time and the inclination to clean and organize their homes that's great.  If cleanliness is important to you then you should spend time cleaning and you shouldn't have to apologize to anyone for that.  Cleanliness just isn't that important to me and never has been (much to my parents' dismay).  My home is a reflection of what is important to me.  Books are important to me.  My apartment is littered with them.  My kids' sense of accomplishment is important to me.  My walls are covered with their art work.  Delicious, comforting, and wholesome food is important to me.  My kitchen is full of homemade baked goods and dirty dishes.  And as a consequence of all the reading and doing art and baking  (and nursing. Did I mention so. much. nursing? Yes, I nurse my 2.5 year-old.  A lot. That's something else I'm not apologizing for) there isn't much time leftover for laundry and vacuuming and putting away toys.  My standard for cleanliness is basically not-Hiroshima.

So please, come on over.  There are crumbs on my chairs but banana bread in the oven.  To enter my home is to know me, the real me, and if that's not hospitality, then I don't know what is.