my house is trashed - sorry

I find myself apologizing a lot when people come over the house lately.  

Maybe it's the giant cardboard Charlie Brown house spilling open with My Little Ponies that greets you in the foyer.  Or perhaps it is the front room sewing room that is a piled mess of fabric, thread, and ribbons.  Then there is the perilous journey from the front door to the family room jumping over the Thomas the Train tracks.  

I'm sorry that you might need help moving mountains before you can sit on the sofa.  It is often littered with football cards, legos and such.  

Looking for clean clothes, dishes or such - I might say sorry there too.

It's not that the house is filthy, It is just not Better Homes and Gardens perfect.  

But what it is is life.  
A good life.
A real life. 

 A recognition that the kids won't remember how many loads of laundry that were put up but rather homemade meals around the table together.
They won't look back on childhood thankful that we had a pristine dining room that never housed a fancy meal but rather a room full of imagination and laughter. 

This house is real, and the door is always opened.  

It doesn't matter that the floors are polished and that the toys are picked up. 

What matters is that you know you are welcomed.  No matter the time, you are welcomed.  And we are thankful that you came.  

This is real life, this is a good life - a life meant to be shared. 

So when I say sorry I'm not.  I'm not sorry that we are enjoying life.  I'm not sorry that I choose time with my children over folding laundry.  I'm sorry, I'm not sorry. 

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