I swear I'm not a pig all the time

Today I hosted my first playgroup meeting. Five mommies and their boys came over to play. I was really nervous about Lucas sharing his toys but he did incredibly well. I am so proud of him. He ran around like a good little host and handed toys to everyone. He kept bringing toys out and giving them to the kids which I completely didn't expect. I thought there would be a ton of drama. And there were two times where he broke down and cried but that is because a boy was playing with his favorite toy, the garbage truck. I had put the garbage truck into Lucas's room because I knew this would be an issue, but Lucas pulled it out of his room and shared it. He quickly realized that he didn't really want to share his truck so there were some tears until I was able to put the truck back into his room - safe from the other kids.

I HATE hosting things. I really don't like people to come into my house, to be honest with you. I feel like I should be invited to their homes but they don't need to come to mine. I know this is weird and not rational but I don't care - it is just how I feel. I think this is because I am really bad at decorating and furnishing a home and don't want people to realize this. But anyway. I got the house really clean and de-cluttered for today. It is beautiful, you should see it. But my bedroom kind of ended up as a catch-all room where I threw everything I didn't know what to do with. And it is a DISASTER. Seriously. It is awful. I am going to go clean it once Nick wakes up because it is so bad. There is stuff on the bed, on our dressers, covering the bathroom counters, on the floor. . . it's everywhere.

I have a point . . .the reason I told you about my bedroom is because a little boy, Ben, ran into my bedroom chasing one of our cats. And his mom, Sara (who I really like), went chasing after him. Ben didn't just stop once he got into the room, no he ran all the way through our room, into the bathroom and into our closet. And so did his mom. And now I am mortified. All I wanted to say to her was "I swear this isn't how we live. . . I SWEAR!!! I'm not a pig. . . most of the time anyway". I left our bedroom door cracked to let the cats run into our room to hide. Bitches. Those stinkin' cats cause me more grief. I am blaming them for this. Again. Not rational. I know.