I stink at hostessing. It is not my gift. This has been clear to me for a long time because I grew up in the home of an incredible hostess. My mom loves hospitality and takes such joy in entertaining. She sets a beautiful table, handles all the details and makes it seem effortless. She is the kind of woman who has a mini coffee maker and flavored coffees in the guest bathroom for when company comes to spend the night. These are things that would never occur to me. This last Thanksgiving we hosted friends and while I did manage to make a ham, I didn’t remember to slice it, so I just set the giant hunk of meat on the table in front of our guests and let them figure it out. Not my finest hour.
For a long time I have been able to hide my terrible hostessing skills because people would invite us over instead of me having to have them. But now having six kids means we don’t get invited places very often. I don’t blame people. We are kind of a circus and nobody is quite sure how to handle us (bless you, people who are brave enough to invite large families over for dinner, for yours is the kingdom of heaven. . . or something like that). This means we now have two options: never socially interact with adults or learn how to have people in our home.
So because I am not ready to just give up on all adult interactions, I am trying to learn to reframe what hospitality looks like for me– a mom of young children. I am learning to accept my own limitations and embrace doing what I can do. I may not ever be the kind of hostess my mom is, but what is it that I can offer the people we want to share life with?
I’m learning to appreciate the unique skill set I’ve developed over the years. We worked for five years as group home parents to mostly teen boys (usually 6-8 of them) which means I basically hosted a dinner party for an extremely ravenous group every night of the week. We may not have had a lovely centerpiece or classical music in the background, but I KNOW how to cook a pot of spaghetti that will feed a crowd. I’m not phased by big, noisy groups and I’m happy when people feel at home and relaxed. I’ve learned not to stress about muddy shoes or spilled coffee or a broken dish. This is the price you sometimes pay for sharing your home with guests, especially young guests. As a foster parent, my job description has literally been to make a stranger feel like my home is their home. Why did it not occur to me that this is the basis of hospitality?
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