When someone comes through my door, I see another pair of hands to the pump. Whatever the occasion for their visit, I can’t help expecting them to help, and feel a little let down if they don’t immediately take all the children off my weary hands. In short, I am Hostzilla. Do I need to temper my expectations for Christmas – or lay down some rules?
The Accidental Childminder
We needed the electrician today. Friendly chap, grandkids, never met him before in my life. After a few minutes, he called out meekly, “Er, miss, your baby keeps heading for my tool box…?” “Oh, sorry!” I trilled from the boys’ bedroom upstairs where I was putting away laundry. “I’ll be right there!” If this is how I am with a total stranger, you can imagine how I am with family – I see their presence as a golden ticket to slip away and get on with my chores while they mind the kids. And this is key – it’s not like I use people as a crèche while I go and get a massage, it’s just to Get Stuff Done.
No Lie-Ins At The Inn
It wasn’t always thus. Before I had children, I was a keen and generous hostess. Nothing was too much trouble. But when my first baby was born, so was Hostzilla. When people came to stay, I still didn’t particularly mind the extra dishwasher loading. I actually enjoyed making up beds and laying out towels in a brisk Florence-Nightingale-preparing-the-infirmary kind of way. It was all about the sleep. Non-parents just don’t know the pain they inflict by stumbling downstairs at 9am (an early morning for them, I know – it used to be me!) when the hostess has been awake most of the night, and been up for good since 5am. Even now, when I’m getting relatively more sleep, if my hackles weren’t so knackered, they would rise at this. So, to short-circuit my resentment, the Hostzilla in me has been considering handing my guests the Hobsons Choice of the bedtime or morning shift. I would happily cook and clear up Christmas lunch and all the attendant snackery single-handed, if I’d had an extra 90 minutes in bed.
If They Loved Me Enough They’d Want To Help
If they knew how tired I was, wouldn’t my guests forgo their lie-in, just this once? Wouldn’t they offer to take the kids for a walk after lunch so I could pass out over the washing up? The trouble is, the more kids you have (three, in my case), the more capable you appear. And being a mum, and therefore notoriously reluctant to show weakness, I don’t disabuse them of this notion. I just expect them to read my mind.
If I Loved Them Enough, I Wouldn’t Expect Them To Help
Obviously, my guests are people whom I love – otherwise they wouldn’t be staying in my house. And they’ve been working hard all year too. We all need a break, and part of the joy, as well as the challenge, of being a good hostess, is to give them a little bit of festive respite within your own four walls. Whatever the sleep ratios are.
Away With The Dog-in-a-Manger
Tempting as it is to issue a chores rota for the Christmas period, I’m going to refrain. (Most of my family read this blog anyway, so they’ve been given the heads up – hi, love you guys!). The point of them coming is to spend time with me – not (just) my boys and my Baileys. We get together en masse so seldom that I don’t want to waste a moment of it – and if I start demanding sleep timesheets, it’ll serve me right if they turn into Guestzillas.
You sounds proper scary! 🙂
I’m jolly nice, on six hours’ consecutive sleep…