"Not OK" voice inside me to haranguing at triple decibel level. If my
Internal Critic has been on an extended coffee-break (she never takes
a vacation), she rushes back to her desk to begin sending memos
regarding my house-keeping, cooking skills, and general hostess
No matter that the company-to-be are old and dear friends, the sort
who would never criticize and probably hardly notice the dust under
the beds or the streaky windows. The Internal Critic has gone into
over-drive and her notes and inside-the-head lectures drown out any
contrary opinions. Even if the household surfaces were spick and span
(they aren't!) she'd know the places the dust-cloth had missed. With
my increasingly "casual" standards of house-keeping she has
ammunition a-plenty and works herself into a hysterical froth of self-
Deep breath. I'm having to learn that despite the lessons learned at
mother's knee - whether or not those were lessons she was teaching -
I don't have to be the aproned- high-heeled homemaker greeting guests
with a cocktail and a perfectly cooked standing rib roast. The mental
picture garnered from Life magazine ads and episodes of Father Knows
Best may have been an ideal, but it was never reality. That wasn't
the home I grew up in and wasn't the home of anyone I knew.
Another deep breath. Welcome friends. Put your feet on the furniture.
Relax and stay a while. Mi casa - su casa and feel free to ignore the
dust... or grab a cloth and chase it around! I'm so glad you are
visiting AND helping me learn, slowly, that it is okay to be me.