Welcoming People Into Our Imperfect Space

The house's artwork was leaning against the walls when I started planning for company. Not the kind of company where nothing changes, like my sister or our friend, Dagny visits. But my aunt — a woman who fed us during the move, checked on us during the chaos, and keeps a home that feels like warmth and order in equal measure is coming to visit this week. And we’re also hosting a handful of teenagers for Red’s fourteenth birthday.

It’s one of those moments where life refuses to line up neatly.
The house is still mid-project.
And the people arriving matter to me in very different ways.

Red’s turning fourteen, and somehow we’re planning a boy–girl party while still stepping on the occasional LEGO. It hits different when the kids walking through your door suddenly look like young adults with lip gloss and whispered alliances instead of popsicle stains and squeals. We’re long past singing Yo Gabba Gabba’s “Don’t, Don’t, Don’t Bite Your Friends” and are looking for ways to talk about consent, choosing good friends, and finding your voice. His voice drops a little more each week. And every time I hear footsteps on the stairs, I have to pause—Is it my teenager, or the man who’s walked through all these seasons with me? 

And as if the party wasn’t enough motivation to get this place feeling more settled, when my aunt arrives, I want her to walk through the door and feel cared for the same way she cared for us during those chaotic months during the move, not because our home is perfect, but because we are trying. Her kindness makes me want to be worthy of her presence.

That’s the tension of this moment: Wanting people we love to feel welcome while living in a space that still hasn’t found its final shape.

 

Inviting her into our real house — not the tidy imaginary one I sometimes wish we lived in — has pushed me to look at this place differently. And strangely enough, it’s the same feeling I have thinking about Red’s birthday party.

I want him to feel proud bringing friends into our home. I want my husband to feel like home base is safe and comfortable. And I want my aunt to walk through the door and feel the same love she showed us during those chaotic months.

Not because everything is perfect.
Not because the pantry is organized or the sofa cushions are cooperating.
But because the space feels like us.

That’s the part I keep circling around: we’re shaping a home together — the three of us — in our own uneven way. Red is finding his footing. My husband contributes lots of humor, health insurance, and shows up in all the steady, practical ways that make a home possible. And I’m the one holding the center — managing the details, the logistics, the business, the rhythms of our days — trying to stitch the edges together so this place feels like it belongs to all of us.

Some days I make progress.
Some days the universe nudges me to slow down.

But the intention stays the same:

Make a home where people feel welcome.
Make a home that holds the life we’re building.
Make a home that’s warm, lived-in, and honest.

So, while this week feels full — teenagers incoming, projects half-finished, rooms still settling — it also feels strangely right. I’m learning that a home becomes meaningful long before it becomes finished.

Thanks for being here for the real-life part.