I realize that inviting people over for dinner during our family’s summer of madness is a special kind of madness that I apparently suffer from.
Yes, there are SIX kids in my 1400 square foot home. Yes, we did have to visit a Laundromat last week, a place I haven’t been since college, in an attempt to conquer the crazy amount of laundry piling up here (and it’s still not done, still not done. sigh.). Yes, getting the kids to bed every night is a nearly three hour long process (I’m only exaggerating a little) and figuring out what to feed those same squirrely kids takes up most of the rest of the hours in the day (even my homemade mac and cheese is off the table – too cheesy, apparently).
And yet, it seemed like such a good idea to invite dinner guests. Maybe because it feels nice to invite people over who will tell you (perhaps out of obligation, but at this point, I’ll take it) that dinner is delicious and ask for seconds. Maybe because the adults at our table have been outnumbered for weeks now. Maybe because I’m a glutton for punishment. Who knows.
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