Please Excuse the Mess

It is fairly easy to like me on a weekend.

I can fix my hair, put on a dress, meet you somewhere that does not contain a single stray sock and carry on an uninterrupted adult conversation. I can laugh, flirt, order something I would never bother making at home and create the convincing impression that my life is calm, orderly and routinely accompanied by good lighting.

That is not false advertising. It is simply the display model.

To be more than a weekend, you are eventually going to have to come inside, and I should probably warn you that the rest of the place does not look like the showroom. I have three children, two full-time jobs and a brain that keeps approximately seventeen tabs open at all times. At least three of those tabs are playing music, and I cannot figure out which ones.

There will be noise. Someone will need a drink immediately after I sit down. Someone else will be unable to locate an object that is touching his or her actual body. I will receive a work call while trying to cook dinner, answer it with complete professionalism and then turn around and say something considerably less professional about whoever left an empty box in the pantry. This is not an occasional disruption. This is Tuesday.

I clean up nicely, but I do not live that way. My shoes may be in the living room. There may be laundry on a chair that has quietly stopped being a chair and accepted its new role as a textile storage facility. I may spend ten minutes searching for my phone while it is in my hand. I may start telling you a story, interrupt myself with another story, remember the original story two hours later and expect you to still be emotionally invested in the ending.

You will also discover that I am not especially mysterious. I have thoughts, and regrettably, most of them eventually become audible. I ask questions. I notice things. I laugh at inappropriate moments and occasionally make a joke so dark that a decent person would probably pause before laughing. I will remember something funny you said six months ago, but I may forget the groceries I specifically went into the store to buy.

None of that means life with me is one long emergency. Quite the opposite. There is a lot happening here, but there is also a lot of laughing. My children are funny. I am funny, at least to myself, which is fortunate because I am the person I spend the most time with. Dinner may be late, the house may be loud and somebody may be wearing only one shoe, but there will be stories. There will be affection. There will be people talking over one another because everyone believes his or her contribution is the most urgent and fascinating thing ever said.

A weekend gets the polished version of me, and she is lovely. I enjoy her myself. But she is not the woman who lives here full time. The woman who lives here may answer the door dressed beautifully from the waist up because a video call did not require further commitment. She may be mentally trying a case while loading a dishwasher. She may suddenly decide at ten o’clock at night that the entire kitchen needs to be reorganized and then lose interest after moving four coffee cups.

I am not asking anyone to fix this. I would honestly prefer that no one touch anything without first asking, because I probably know exactly where it is beneath the pile. I am also not promising to become quieter, simpler or permanently caught up. I have spent enough time with myself to know that some version of this mess is part of the package.

But it is a good package.

There is loyalty here. There is humor here. There is a woman who will listen closely, love fiercely, defend the people she cares about and find something ridiculous to laugh about when the whole day has gone sideways. There are three children, two jobs, unfinished laundry, loud opinions, excellent stories and probably a missing phone charger.

So, please excuse the mess.

The front room may be what catches your attention, but the rest of the house is where all the good stories happen.

---

Judith Hampton

Attorney-at-Law

Hampton Law Firm