I love entertaining. If I could throw a get together every weekend I would. Even though they exhaust me.
My house is nothing fancy. It’s well-laid out, but sometimes seems small for the three of us. It feels like it’s only half decorated to me at any given moment. There are rooms whose doors remain closed for the duration of the visits of others. But still. I love inviting friends over for whatever reason I can imagine. And when people come over, my house suddenly feels like it’s the perfect size.
I also happen to think I throw a pretty kick-ace party. I make sure there’s plenty of food and beverages and that people know it’s okay to make themselves at home. I introduce everyone. I try to circulate and talk to everyone. I get all giddy when people strike up conversations with one another. Like I’ve made some kind of new-friend-love-connection or something.
My house is happiest when there are people in it.
But there’s that exhaustion thing…
Right now? I’m about 5 minutes away from bed. I can’t see me staying awake much longer. In fact, I’m pretty sure I could fall asleep sitting up right here on the couch and be completely unphased.
I’m not sure what it is about throwing parties that is so exhausting. The preparation? The worry over whether everyone will have a good time? The entertaining itself and having to be “on”?
Dan said to me earlier today that he thinks we should have Joshua’s next birthday party somewhere not our house. But if we did that I wouldn’t get to break out my serving platters or get all DIY crafty crafter!
But I also wouldn’t have to worry about filing a claim on my homeowners insurance when someone is inadvertently mangled by a laundry avalanche after opening the wrong door either, so that’s a definite bonus.
I think I’m just going to sleep on this decision.