Last week, my daughter, a high school freshman, invited five of her friends over to our house to get together before their first homecoming dance. Each friend brought something to share: drinks, chips, fruit, and cookies. So. Many. Cookies!
As each high schooler arrived, the voices went up a few decibels. The energy and excitement before the dance seemed to become more palpable by the minute.
A few parents stopped in. Before long, our living room was filled up with kids and parents. My dog, cruelly locked in my bedroom, voiced his concern by whining. He didn’t understand why we didn’t need his fur and slobber over all the party dresses!
As much as I love my little house, I can’t help but worry when strangers walk into our house for the first time. I start to wonder what it looks like through their eyes. What must they think? I searched the faces of the kids and the other parents. Were they disappointed? Did they think the house was too small? Did they feel sorry for my daughter, for having to grow up in such a small space?
And my worst thought: Are the kids wishing they had invited everyone over to their house instead?
Finally, it was time to take pictures. The sun was just beginning to cast a golden glow on the fall sky. The kids arranged themselves in the backyard, arms around each other’s shoulders. The parents lined up, the more casually dressed counterparts of the kids, and raised smartphones in the air to snap photos.
The parents left, leaving the freshmen at our house, where I had promised to make them tacos before they headed to the high school. As I stood in the kitchen, flipping tortillas in the cast iron skillet, I heard the kids in the next room fuss over makeup and their shoes, and whether or not they should wear a jacket. There was laughter. I couldn’t help but notice some trepidation, too. I remember those school dances, the dizzying mix of eagerness and worry. The hair, the shoes, and the dress had to be just right!
As I added seasonings to the taco meat and set out the sour cream, cheese, pico de gallo and guac, I let out a deep breath, releasing my previous worry about our small house.
My small house has taught me over and over again that the size of our home does not determine happiness. Why do I still seem to forget that when I’m welcoming strangers into my home for the first time? I still worry about what others think, even though I already know this to be true: my smaller house has not diminished our happiness one bit. In fact, the opposite is true: our smaller footprint has brought a peace of mind that we never had in our bigger home.
Whether you live in a small house or a big house, you can still be hospitable. You can still invite others in, and show friendliness. You can provide a safe space for everyone, especially teens headed to their first high school dance.
I will have to keep telling myself: Whatever I have, it is all I need at this moment.
It is enough.
In our Cozy Cottage, we don’t have a family room or a game room. There is no “study” or extra bathrooms or a master suite. There are definitely no walk-in closets in our house.
What we do have: One living room that also acts as a dining room and a music room. Our couch is usually against the front wall, except for when we all watch a movie, which is when we pivot the couch to face the TV. Our ottoman is great for putting up our feet, but when folks come over, the ottoman gets pushed to the side to make more space.
It comes down to this: Our Cozy Cottage is enough. Come on in, where you may bump the shoulders of the person next to you. It gets kind of loud when there are a lot of voices, but we like it that way. Think of our little house as reaching its arms out and wrapping you in a warm hug. Better yet, think of our house as a warm tortilla, enveloping you in a toasty embrace.
After all, we have tacos. And cookies.
