If I were truly a “writer,” then I would sit down and write every day. I would post my thoughts several times a week. I would be disciplined, inspired, inspiring.
Alas, I am none of those things. I am, however, a wife, mom, volunteer, mentor, cook, housekeeper, friend. I also like to sleep. A lot. So sometimes writing takes a back seat to all of my other roles.
But I’m here now. Hi. Good to see you again. Thanks for coming back. I’m sorry.
I did start a post sometime last week (two weeks ago?) about my first experience hot waxing my hoo-hah, and I attempted a segue into parenting (painful, extraordinarily messy, necessitates large doses of Advil) – but I’m not there yet. It’s been an open window on my laptop for two weeks, and I’d love to wrap it up and bless you with mental images to burn a hole in your brain…but you’ll have to wait a little longer.
What could possibly distract me from such riveting prose, you ask? Two words: Fortieth. Birthday.
Which was most certainly NOT mine (though it will be soon). Michael hit the summit earlier this month. We celebrated with his family on the actual day, but since this is a significant birthday, we decided to throw a party later in the month with our friends. Our first free weekend was three weeks after his birthday. Such is our life.
We said, “Let’s have some food catered, hang out with friends, no kids. That’ll be fun. Easy, laid back, nothing fancy.”
That was the plan. A week and a half before the party, I ordered paper goods. Black. Kind of an over-the-hill feel. Good.
Then I saw black and silver sparkly gems to scatter on the tables. Ooooo, that’s fun, I thought. Let’s get those.
Then I ran into Hobby Lobby for a quick glance at their black-and-silver decor.
It was, as they say, all downhill from there. Silver-glittered birch branches led to black and white glittered curly sticks and black ribbon with silver rhinestones, which led to black and silver bunting, which led to a ginormous tub of black and silver Christmas ornaments. And I was only getting warmed up.
Ten days and six Hobby Lobby runs later, our home was slathered in black, white, and silver. I had sentimental centerpieces, table runners, a wreath, banners displaying the word “forty” in seven different languages, a poster with over a hundred pictures of Michael, a homemade photo booth, lights strung across the back patio, and a cupcake tower. It looked amazing. (If I do say so myself.)
I couldn’t have pulled it off without Caroline’s help. We took a break from serving the world to serve Hobby Lobby’s profit margins. Her motto is “anything worth doin’ is worth over-doin’ ” We plunged head-first into over-doin’.
These tags are stamped with significant dates in Michael’s life, and the event is written on the back
About thirty of our friends arrived on Saturday night – all from different seasons of our life. We ate, we talked, we busted moves to the 80s music piped in around us. Perfection. Michael and I intentionally designed our home for entertaining large groups because we thoroughly enjoy doing so. While we were dating, God tore off a corner of the wrapping paper and let us peek at the gift He had for us – hospitality – and over the last twenty years, He has slowly unwrapped the box. Last weekend was icing on the cupcake.
While I should have started months earlier, the preparations both exhausted and energized me. I’d fall into bed each night with aching feet and shoulders, but my heart and mind were racing with fresh ideas and exhilaration. I love to create. I haven’t had so much fun since we built our house.
Which makes me wonder why I don’t create more often. Time? Energy? The three hundred miles I drive every week? Yes, yes, and yes. But I need to create space in my week for creating. God hard-wired me as His co-creator, and the process fulfills a small part of His purpose for me. Couple that with the gift of hospitality, and the answer seems clear.
I need to throw more parties.
For now, I will try (try!) to write more. I think I’ve said that a bajillion trillion times. No, really. I mean it. Sort of. I will write. Writing is creating, and I can create. At least upon completion of a blog post, I’m not covered in black and silver glitter.