Home Sweet Home

I love my home. I especially like it when I've had the privelege of getting away from it, then come back with a renewed spirit and feel like I'm seeing it through new eyes. Over the weekend we accepted the invitation to a house warming party- new friends for us. I was much looking forward to this party for more than one reason. First, I don't get out that much, and when I do, its generally with 50 to 1150 small children and therefore doesn't quality as "getting out". Secondly, the hostess is quite a classy woman, and being a hand-me-down yoga pant and comfy sweater type of gal, I don't often attract this type of person as a friend. Thirdly, the party was in the city, so we planned on travelling in with good friends with whom there are no taboo subjects and many, many things to laugh about.

I was not to be disappointed. The street address was so brand new that we had trouble finding the house. There was light streaming out of its numerous, generous windows. We were greeted at the door by an impeccably dressed host and hostess who made us feel like VIP's, threw their arms around us, (like we were the prodigal son ourselves), and whisked out coats and shoes out of sight into a closet in an entirely different room. When the next guests arrived, they too would get the sense that they were the first and only most important people in their lives.

The house was perfect. The interior design was not accidental. The table was spread with the finest appetizers laid out in unchipped china and crystal. The kitchen, even without the spread of wine and sparkling cider, was breathtaking. The fridge was stainless steel, with one of those cool drawers at the bottom which is actually the freezer. Justice cannot be done to the rest of the kitchen, since I am of the unsophisticated mind that when a kitchen smells good, its magazine material. I can just tell you that as Brian began to drool uncontrollably I knew we must be in a place of greatness. We were ushered upstairs for the "penny tour", past the luxurious family room, spacious home office, into the master bedroom. It was one of these rooms that has space for not only a king sized bed, but an inviting loveseat under the window, and a gorgeous wardrobe closet. The bed was too pretty to be used for drooly nocturnal snoring. Each of the 47 pillows was carefully positioned, colour coordinated with its neighboring textures.

Time for the party to begin. We lounged on white leather in the living room, sitting like ladies sipping our wine. There was a diverse variety of people filling the place. I was glad I had kicked up my standard a notch and not shown up in old yoga pants or the skirt and shredded nylons I changed out of at the last minute. (Jane keeps steeling my nylons, punching holes in them, then returning them to my drawer). I needn't have worried. These people were genuine, no matter what was draped on their exterior. This wasn't one of those parties where you nervously seek out the people you know , then stick to them like flies on pie. There was a constant rotation of people mingling and interacting, real conversation, real depth, real belly laughs.

We stayed out much later than usual, choosing not to dwell on the fact that we had yet to drive the sitter home, and that our kids were no respecters of time and would rise early and loud the following morning. We talked and laughed deep into the night, then all throughout the drive home.

I slept in as best I could the following morning, then stumbled out of bed towards the coffee machine. Getting out of bed, I found myself very nearly in our doorless closet, taking care not to bash my knees into the dressers crammed into our "cozy" space. My feet slid across the two toned linoleum floor. No- wait a second. Its not two toned. Its two different pieces of flooring duct taped and stapled together, with cracks so deep you can see the plywood underneath. I tripped over some toys and steadied myself on the bannister leading up to the upstairs bedrooms. There is some cheap plastic christmas garland wrapped on it, barely hiding the one coat of priming I coated it with about two years ago. I had thought at the time that if I primed it, I would surely finish painting the house. No such luck, I'd merely gotten used it. The living room's hand-me-down furniture was littered with cereal bowls and juice cups, the table too sticky to be used to eat off of. Besides, it was literally covered in craft supplies as Jane and her friend busily made greeting cards together. In the kitchen I noticed again that we never did get baseboards put in, and there is a scarey collection of honey nut cheerios and toast crumbs in their place.

I started piling dishes into the dishwasher and kicking toys into a corner of the room, meanwhile mumbling under my breath; "Look at this place! The clutter! Gross!!" Simultaneously, a grinning kid skipped through the room and exclaimed:

"SURE IS COMFY, THOUGH!!"