A few weeks ago, we were preparing to host out of town friends for the weekend. I get giddy in preparing for friends and love all the things that entails; the planning, the visit, hanging on the back porch late into the night, being cheesy and making them sign our guest book before they leave.
I also delight in the clean house that happens before guest arrive. A lot. Sometimes I wonder if I subconsciously invite friends to stay so I will make myself clean out a closet or two in preparation of their arrival. Probably not, but I still wonder.
My eldest child also loves to host last minute, summer-night, swim parties. It’s never an organized, planned party, more of a, “Hey mom, we are headed to the house to swim, that ok?” gathering. On this night, I reminded him that I had just cleaned the house and wanted it to stay that way due to company arriving the next day. He assured me they were just hanging outside. No biggie, just a chill night, swimming with friends and listening to music.
Just a few of the crew members…
I should pause here to add that I love Mason’s friends. Adore them. Some of them have been friends since they were in kindergarten, and I loved them as sweet, five year olds. Now that they are headed into their senior year of high school, there really isn’t a time I say “No” to them being here. We are soaking in the moments, socking away memories like gold coins. Gold coins that we can look back on and count when our nest is empty.
The kiddos came and swam, a fun time was had, and several stayed over for the evening, crashed out in odd shapes of blankets in the game room. The next morning, I walked into the living area and was horrified. Clearly, a gang of pirates invaded our home in the night and destroyed my clean floors. The dark wood looked like the mateys had ran a 5K on a caliche road before entering in the back door, and dropped crumbs to find their way back out to the pool. Rosie the Roomba was no match for this job.
I walked into the kitchen to discover that Jack Sparrow himself had decided to cook chicken and rice for his whole gang. The rascal was gracious enough to leave the dishes for his mother. I can’t fully explain how random this meal was, or exactly where the ingredients came from. Just a few hours before the teenage buccaneers arrived, I had determined there was nothing in our cupboards or freezers to fix for dinner, and ordered in. In the morning sun, spare grains of rice lay burnt under the stove top grate, pots and pans filled up the sink, wet beach towels hung on the bar stools, three trashcans overflowed with the remnants of their bounty. All I could see in my mind’s eye was salmonella dripping off of every surface.
Shiver. Me. Timbers.
Sometimes luck has a method of paving the way for you, and Mason has a knack for seeking out luck’s paved roads. While standing there in the aftermath of the raided kitchen, it dawned on me that my son is a lot like his Momma. As much as these teens seek to create their own path, the pendulum swings back. He too, strives to be a good host. We both want our guest to feel at home, to leave refreshed, restored, and full. Neither of us ever wish for our people to be famished, which is why I stock massive snack drawers for the kiddos and a wine cabinet for my girlfriends. I made a mental note to start stocking more meat in the freezer, since Mason’s culinary skills and appetite had blossomed.
With three teenagers in the house, we are facing more situations where I realize it’s time to lower the bumpers on the parenting lane. Some things need to be discovered on their own, like cleaning up our own messes. Some still need guidance and discipline. As their mom, I walk a tight rope of my boys calling me Leigh Anne Tuohy, “The Blindside Mom” and the cheesy mom who still applies sunscreen to their teenage-sensitive faces and organizes their sock drawers when they aren’t looking.
Confession – I’ve always secretly rolled my eyes at the mom that makes her healthy, normal sized 12-year-old ride in a booster seat. And, also the mom who throws keg parties and collects keys. I’m looking for a happy medium, a half-way point; a place for a reasonable, loving, sometimes dorky mom to hang out. Maybe not fully wrapping them in bubble wrap, but just from the chest up?
For now, it’s just the bumpers, it’s not time for him to find his own lane just yet, we are still family bowling here buddy. Go wake up your pirates and find some mops.
