Make it Shine

Preparing for a party is hard work. In fact, I usually resort to crying, stomping, yelling and eventually wilting. My family hates watching me 'stress' about parties, family get togethers. I think I know why I did that. I was creating an illusion. I wanted the house clean, the carpet vaccuumed, the floors and counters smooth, laundry folded, toilets clear. That all went into play if my parents, or sisters and nieces and nephews would be coming over for a family 'get together'. How simple that sounds, a 'get together'.

'Yes! Let's get together!'

'Oh, sure, that sounds like fun!'

Bullshit! I would rage like Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest. Oh, I was a fright. Sweating, reaking of bleach and furniture polish. Muscles cramping. Feet aching. And for what? Two - three hours of family get togethers, where we'd trot down memory lane and tell the same stories over and over and over again. We'd settle back into a groove made long ago, on the wagon trail of our family. My kids, my husband, my in-laws would suffer in silence, while we settled back into a rhythm from long ago.

And then, after they'd all leave, I'd collapse and cry, dissecting snippets of conversation no one else had heard. I'd find meaning in sighs and eye rolls and seating arrangements. It all mattered. And, one sigh undid the hours and hours of time and energy I punished myself and my family with, to get ready for the 'get together'.

And so, I'd retreat to our bedroom and talk it all out to my husband. He hated family get togethers. He too would kind of collapse just from watching me and my reactions.

So, tomorrow is a get together. No husband to commiserate with after. I gotta try and chill when it comes to cleaning. My guests don't care if my house is clean. And, heck, I don't care, either. On the off chance that someone comes over to visit, I am just too tired to wonder what they think of me and my house. I have nothing to hide. This is me, fat and short and tired. Love it or leave it.