Since having a baby I’ve had to get used to messes, dishes placed hastily in the sink until Lucia’s nap time, a pile of laundry ever-ready to be folded, my hair pulled back haphazardly.

I used to fret a lot about the messes; in the era of Pinterest and filters, I imagined other moms in neat little outfits, mothering tidy little children in well-kept homes.

I devoted, especially in the early days of motherhood, entirely too much time to fretting about the house when guests would come over. I’d waste precious nap time making things look “just so” rather than engaging in any real self-care. When a friend turned up unannounced for a walk, I angst-ed over the remnants of a recent trip to Colorado – toiletries, a fleece – left out to be put back later. I apologized in a text, “I’m sorry about the state of our house!” My friend wrote back, “It made me feel good to be somewhere with love and warmth.” A-ha.

Messiness is where life lives. The blocks are strewn all over the floor because we build with them. The small bookshelf in our kitchen is great precisely because Lucia can pull her books off the shelves. The sink is full because we’ve shared a meal together. Messiness is real. Like the Skin Horse explains in the Velveteen Rabbit, being real isn’t always pretty. He tells the Rabbit, “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because when you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

So, I’ve begun to embrace the realness in my life. Last week, I invited eight moms and their children over to my house for a Holiday Lunch. I wanted to celebrate the season. I didn’t put off the event until my house was perfect – it was never going to be – or until life had calmed down enough – it wouldn’t.

Instead, I sent out an invite promising holiday tunes, a simple meal, and a cozy house. I made a big pot of carrot soup. I spread raspberry jam and almond butter on top of sourdough bread and used a cookie cutter for ivy-shaped sandwiches for the kids. I baked my grandmother’s Mexican Wedding Cookies. I lit candles. I mulled cider on the stove, so the house smelled like cinnamon and Christmas. I played Pandora’s Charlie Brown Christmas station. I pulled out blocks and a tunnel.

The rest just happened.

The babies played. Crumbs fell on the floor. Moms laughed. Lucia, having decided in the weeks before holiday celebrations that people simply wear her out, lasted for ten minutes and then napped for four hours. The party wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

Cheers to a real holiday!