FORWARD

FORWARD

True story….

My husband Bill and I were invited to a ‘couples only’ New Year’s Eve party; friends of his from high school (that’s ANOTHER story all together, but not mine to tell).  This couple had five (5) children of their own, each about 2 years apart. They are wonderful people, let me get that out of the way… ok… continue: Their children were staying over at Grammy’s house for the night so that Mom and Dad could do this whole ‘no children allowed’ thing. It was a Friday evening, and we all worked.

Translation: Ladies, hope your 3 hour preparations can be sped up, as you’ll only have 2 to complete all of your little odd ‘going out’ rituals, get the kids fed and ready for the babysitter, and make certain you are available to answer the inevitable question “Where are my good dress socks?” and be able to follow up with a course of action.

We had two children, ages 4 and 6 at the time, and I was wondering how our friends, let’s call them Bob and Jen, could possibly go through a whole week of working 40 plus hours, laundry, dishes, dusting, vacuuming, etc… (all the things you do real quick when you find your in-laws will be arriving sooner than later). 

We arrived on time (this, as well, ANOTHER story all together!) and were greeted cheerfully by Bob.  I guess if I were Bob, knew that my kids were at my mom’s, and was guaranteed a night of freedom and, well, no ‘interruptions’ from children for 14-18 hours, I’d be that cheerful too. He swung open the door wide, grinning and inviting us in. 

The home’s hardwood floors and polished wood staircase SPARKLED. I expected to see a tidy, yet thrown together mess of toys in the corner of the living room, there were none to be found (not even under the couch). There were fresh cut flowers in an intricately etched crystal vase (the kind you don’t bring out where the kids can get at it) sitting on the coffee table. Music was playing quietly, and as I peered further into their home, I could see that the fondue was set, and the promised chocolate fountain bubbled away without any small beings hovering about it. Jen’s home was immaculate! Did I tell you that the floors SPARKLED?

We enjoyed the first few hours of chat, catching up on the details of what we were doing, and where we were going. There was a silent code of ‘no child talk’ that we danced around and stumbled around rather awkwardly. The three couples there had experienced a life that was engulfed with nothing more than issues with pediatritians, school woes, and the next best deal on clothes and shoes for the kids. Aside from the occasional debate about new vaccinations, or illnesses that our children had recently contracted, it was mostly a ‘child talk-less’ night.

I couldn’t help but admire how the sink was dry and shiny (if there’s a drop of water, it usually means they’ve just finished the dishes). The counters were free of clutter, and there was no sign that children lived in the home, other than the random pictures that dotted the downstairs rooms. I asked Jen how she could manage working and raising 5 wonderful children (the youngest at the time was 4 years old, and yes, they truly were/are ‘wonderful children’) and pull off entertaining us with such wonderful fare and a perfect house.  She pulled me aside, in a shocked sense, and asked me “Hasn’t your sister-in-law taught you how to do this yet?!”

“Damned in-laws”, I thought. For someone that imagined a good relationship with her sister in-laws, they were still holding out secrets from me. I guess I hadn’t reached ‘that’ point, where you share the deep, dark family secrets with the newest member of the family.

“What are you talking about Jen?” “The kitchen cabinet trick!” she replied.  Rather proud of herself that SHE would be the sensai to guide me in the art of cleaning a home for guests, she took my hand and led me back into her kitchen.

Opening her oven door, she produced what appeared to be half of the pots and pans that she owned, stuffed into her broiler and oven. I had been known to store pots and pans in my broiler, as New England homes are notorious for never having enough cabinet space. These, however, upon further inspection, were absolutely dirty! Grinning at me, but not saying a word, she brought me to the corner of the kitchen, reached up and opened two cabinet doors. Not knowing what to expect (other than dishes) I peered in.  There they were. The past day and a half’s worth of dirty dishes. Piled in, stacked up, and definitely in need of a wash.

“These are the spots you should make for yourself. You never cook when the guests arrive, as the dinner or hors devours should be ready and presented. So, that leaves you your broiler and oven for any of the really big stuff that you can’t put into the cabinets.” Giving me the tutorial of ‘how to entertain’, Jen was on a roll, and I let her roll….

“Then, you know, when you have that all filled up, you can use cups or mugs to hold all of your dirty silverware. Pick a set of cabinets, like these, that are furthest away from the clean dishware, and just start packing in the rest of your dirty dishes!” Simple as that.

My mind was reeling. This person is not the one that I know. The woman who’s children are always clean, shirts and dresses pressed, showing up like a Rockwell picture every Sunday morning for service, EARLY and smiling. This was the same woman who donated hours of her time to great causes, who ran the ‘mom taxi’ for her older ones and their friends, who would help run VBS for our church every year.

I took a deep breath, and a step back. “Why don’t you just put your dirty dishes in the dishwasher?”

Jen walked over to the washer, opened it and showed another full set of dishes that needed to be cleaned. “Already jam packed! I’ll just wait to run the water later. With all of us needing showers, we’d run out of hot water if I did laundry or dishes before guests arrived!” Well, at least that made sense.

The rest of the evening was fun, but I believe to this date, that I was in a state of shock, disbelief, and maybe even had an out-of-body experience. We left around 12:30, all of us taking advantage of a rare evening without children. On the ride home across town, I turned to my husband and began to spew out all of Jen’s ‘secrets’ of a clean home and entertaining strategies. My husband chuckled, then he realized what I was driving at.  It was the picture of the perfect family, living in a perfectly clean home, with perfect appetizers, and a perfect marriage. Maybe they weren’t so ‘perfect’ as we thought.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Flash forward five years later. Billy and I have two more children in tow, and I am selling real estate. Open houses every weekend, and excusing myself from Sunday services to set up for the weekly ‘featured home’ open house. On one particular Sunday, I was asked by a fellow realtor if I would take their open house in return of a favor. I accepted. It was a basement condo on a little side street in town. I no sooner set up the Open House sign outside, tying balloons to the banister leading down the outside stair well, when a familiar voice came from behind.

“Hey! You wanna sell me a place?” I turned to face our friend Bob.

The first thing that went through my mind was ‘Bob’s not in church’, followed quickly by ‘He must be checking up on me for Billy.’ (He’s a really nice guy, like I said, and he wouldn’t think twice to help out a friend in that regard.)

I invited him in, grateful for the company that he offered. Open houses can be very, er, boring. No one to talk to, you don’t want to be watching TV and appear to be ‘slacking on the job’. Truth be told, there’s only so much walking around the property that you can do, without a nosey neighbor asking you what you’re doing, how much they’re selling the home for, and asking if they can snoop around while their neighbor’s out to see how they decorate, as they’re not normally invited in.

Bob began to cry, and when I say cry, I mean, grown man, sobbing. I felt so helpless. He began to tell me that his marriage appeared to be over. He asked me if I saw it coming, because he certainly didn’t. He worked crazy hours to make certain that they had everything they needed or wanted. He had even taken work out of state for weeks at a time, just to make certain that the big checks kept coming in. I suggested that maybe the big paycheck wasn’t worth the loss of their relationship. Our conversation went from what was going on immediately with him and Jen, to how they would deal with housing, the kids, and what the future might look like for all of them.

Bob left that afternoon, after being there with me through the three hours of the open house. He kept telling me how lucky Billy and I were, and what a great relationship we had, and that he wanted that. Pulling up the yard sign and taking down the balloons, Bob said goodbye. We gave each other a hug. I told him to come on over to our home anytime he needed to talk to Billy. He agreed, and went on his way, head down, his little red compact car trudging out onto the street.

As his car moved further down the road, I thought back to the New Year’s party that they had hosted. It was perfect, so was the house. Everything seemed good. Now, all of those dishes jammed into the cupboard and oven came to mind. It just appeared that all was right. There were things undone, chores that were not completed. You wouldn’t know it by looking around at their home, it was perfect; until you opened the cabinet doors.

I’ve thought about that, over and over throughout so many days and years. How perfect others seem to be. How their life looks amazing. Their kids go to the ‘right school’, they’ve got great titles in the amazing companies that they work for. Their home is not only in a good neighborhood, but it’s in a great town. Weekends are filled with events and places, and then relayed on Monday morning at the coffee pot or water cooler as a badge of accomplishment. They go to the really nice restaurants, vacation in wonderful geographic locations, and have deeply held social or spiritual beliefs that they act on.

That’s how Bob and Jen’s life were. That’s how most every other person I’ve known is (or was). But, just like Bob and Jen, so many have a proverbial cabinet full of dirty dishes. I began to realize that the perfection that we all strive for, the façade that we manufacture for the rest of the world to perceive, isn’t always as glamorous as we really are living.

There’s a stat about Facebook users that had come out. Those that spend time on the social web site begin feeling depressed. The more time they utilize these type of sites, the more they feel less than. They look at the pictures of friends and family’s vacations, events, and other snapshots. You know, the one’s you take three times to make certain you’ll look good and the extra ten pounds doesn’t show as much. Yeah, you know what I mean.  Smiling faces (Have I got a family portrait photo story to tell you!) and everything’s perfect with you, your family and the world. Then, we wonder why those TRULY special moments that are captured by a whim, a freak chance, don’t seem to be garnished with the same 'so amazing' comments.

Just like Bob and Jen, we have our own set of ‘Dirty Dishes in the Cabinet’.  Not just a few, all of us. At one time or another does the mantra 'fake it til you make it' come into play. Alas, for most of us, we don't make it ~ not in the way we originally intended, and the dishes, well, they're  waiting there for us to clean them up.