Our family spent about nine hours yesterday at a pool party next door. If you know Keith or me very well, you know that is not exactly our kind of thing. We tend to be homebodies, much to our girls' chagrin, I think. But the Lapkes invited several neighbors we didn't know yet just for us to meet, so we were there. And it actually was a pretty good time. Nice people. Good music. Decent weather. Hot hot tub.
Lexi Lapke spent the night here with Leslie afterward. I found myself wondering this morning what our home and family must seem like to her. Their house seems to be the hoppin' place in the neighborhood -- the spot where all the kids hang out, and sometimes their parents, too. By contrast, we must seem dull as the dry, brown grass.
An old friend I've gotten in touch with on Facebook (could I ever express the impact Facebook has on my life these days?) recently shared with me her memories of my family. Unbeknownst to me, her own family was in crisis at the time. She remembers my home as a place of peace, security and predictability. Mom would always make dinner . . Dad was always a little stern-looking . . the bathrooms were always clean . . . church was every Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday evening. She said our family made her feel loved and safe.
Funny. I always thought we were boring. I could never imagine why a friend would want to come home with me to my house. Boring, boring, boring.
I wish my mom was around now to hear what my friend has to say about the home she made. She would really have liked that. And I suppose I would be thrilled someday to hear that one of the girls' friends found our home to be a safe haven. I guess I can live with not being the hoppin' party place. Gotta be me, after all.