Welcome to the Commenting Pixie Party!
Oh, Phantom. I wish I knew what to say. I could say you're a great mom, because you are, but that's not really the point, is it?
You know, I love your blog. Even though I hardly ever comment, I read your blog almost every day. One thing that always amazes me is how welcome you make everyone feel. On your blog are like one of those kind, generous hostesses who makes sure that everyone knows everyone else, that people with similar interests get introduced to each other, that the conversation keeps moving with no awkward pauses. I love to read your blog for the comments (almost) as much as for what you say, and that's to your credit, because you foster that community.
And I like what you have to say. You make me a better parent. A kinder, gentler parent. Really.
*hugs* dear Phantom. Jennifer is right; you are a wonderful hostess here. I recognise a lot of the feelings (and responses) you describe and I hate to see you having to deal with that pain. I wish there were a way to take all your anxiety and leave you as certain of your worth and wonderfulness as the rest of us.
Sending you hugs. And not saying a whole lot else, because a lot of this is a bit too close to home for comfort. If it makes you feel better, I didn't have a mentally-ill mother, etc. and I feel the same way a lot.
I'll have to check out that book.
Wow. I'm impressed at how well you know yourself, and how you can dig through all the layers and figure out what's bothering you.
And I'm sorry.
Like PK, I completely know how this feels, even though I didn't grow up with a mentally-ill mother, either. And like Lucy and Jennifer, I think you're an awesome hostess on the blog.
I HATE hosting things. I always worry that people are having a bad time, that I've done something wrong. I have no four-year-old to worry about, so I just end up convinced that I'm being an idiot and obnoxious and everyone will hate me and wonder why they even came.
And I use food in a similar way, too. And hate myself for it, and vow never to do it again. And then do it again.
I doubt that it's been any help for you to hear this, but I know how you feel. And you express it all so well!
I also totally know the feeling - perhaps growing up in a family where we didn't speak the same language as "the rest of the world". I certainly know the feeling of wondering whether I'm really doing things right, the fear of judgement, etc.
I wish I had something pithy to add. But ... well, every year I feel like I can pretend better, that I've figured out more of the expectations. *sigh*
More hugs. And I'll bring the leftover oatmeal-peanut butter bars I've got in my kitchen to the afterparty.
I'll chime in that I"m the only child of two stable, socially well-adjusted parents who were practically pillars of the community and regularly had dinner parties -- and I also freak about having people over. I stress about the state of the house, I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from apologizing for every dish I put in front of my guests, and I'm sure I'm being judged on it all.
Which makes me think about my mother''s mad cleaning frenzies before each of those parties she threw for the community theater group, or for the family at Christmas, and the way she got increasingly brittle and easily irritated. I think she felt the same way. She snapped at me while cleaning the way I catch myself snapping at my kids.
So - did I learn that I'm being judged by my guests from her? I don't know. Where do we women get these ideas that our housekeeping skills matter more than what kind of people we are and what we have to say ?
This is all very familiar to me, and I wish it didn't have to be for you, while also feeling glad it's not just me. Inviting people into my home is a very, very difficult thing for me to do, and one of the major things I hope to move past as I grow up.
Also, I have to say that just by having the neighbors over, you seem very brave to me.
Big *hugs* for Phantom. That's a tremendous thing, opening up your home to host your neighbours.
I also hate having company over. Hate having my private world open to public scrutiny. I hate that my house will never look like a page from a decorating magazine (unless it's a "before" shot). And I hate that I can't get my act together to do something about it. Not that I haven't repeatedly tried and failed.
I stress out Big Time when we have company over. To the point where we very infrequently have company over. I hope I don't pass this legacy on to my daughter.
I don't have any words of wisdom for you. Just another Pixie saying you're not alone. We have an idea what you go through and feel like. And we hate that any of us have to go through that.
Many hugs going out to you, Phantom. And like Lucy, P_K, and New Kid, I too have a lot of the same anxieties about hosting. Generally I've just accepted that I'm a pretty crap hostess. But I don't have lots of people over without providing much in the way of alcohol for them and me.
And oh, gosh. The hating self thing- I struggle with that a lot. I'm sorrier than I can express that you are going through it now.
Perhaps it's much help, but it is true that since you know the source of these anxieties, things can only get better. You are not repeating for your children the experience you had. That it SO much really.
All else I can say is that I wish I could move to your neighborhood so I could be part of the people your kids get to know. I never dust. I never notice if other people dust. I certainly do not, never have, and never will run marathons. In fact as the sqvirrel says, I don't run unless someone is chasing me! Pass the ice-cream, please.
"Perhaps it's NOT much help..." is what I meant. I had to re-write much of this comment and the "not" got lost in there.
(((hugs)))
And don't beat yourself up over the desserts. It's not ideal, but it's not the worst coping mechanism possible. And sometimes you need a coping mechanism.
I think I did a book review of Biting the Dust-- I know I read it sometime this spring. I'll be interested in the discussion of it.
(((Phantom)))
I'm not one to pick on other bloggers' writing, but on this post, I think you got the title 180 degrees off: those are UNjust desserts, and I wish I had something better to offer for you and all the rest of us who struggle with issues about eating, food, and judgement. You're carrying around a lot that never should have been dumped on you, and you're incredibly articulate even when you feel crappy.
I hate that you feel this way, when you are such an amazing hostess, going out of your way in person or online to make others feel good and welcome.
I do get it though.
I have lived here 3 years and other than one friend and my parents, nobody knows where I live. I'm proud of you for doing this. Hostessing is scary, scary stuff.
Not much I could say that hasn't already been said, but...
((((*))))
Oh Phantom, I just want to send a hug and agree that you are such a good hostess here--I feel a sense of community here, in the comments of your blog, than I do in a lot of "real life" places I go. And I totally relate to so much of what you say here. And I think you are very, very brave to have the neighbors over--just the thought freaks me out.
I'm with Jennifer -- I read here a lot and only comment a little. I completely sympathize with feeling "like anyone who's granted the slightest window into my life will see how messed-up I am and run in the other direction." I feel that way a lot, too. And honestly, I am too embarassed about the way that I deal with it to actually talk about it, but suffice to say that eating ice cream is way better than what I will refer to as my "coping" mechanism.
You're a great mother. You have a lot of insight, and you are very mindful (in the Buddhist sense), and in just the short time I've been reading here, I've seen an evolution in what you write and how you write about it - you're improving. Sometimes things just overwhelm us -- and it's okay to be overwhelmed, even though it's hell accepting it.
Feeling teary, hoping you are not anymore.
We also get fairly stressed about hosting and don't do it too often. ML's trick, which I seem to have adopted, is Overcompensating! by having Too Much Food! So much food! No chance of running out or not having everyone's favorite! It's expensive but there are lots of leftovers. And exclaimations.
I found your hospitality to be all anyone could wish, and if it's any consolation, I freak out when company is coming, too.
(((PS)))
I'm wondering if the Red Sox had won...would that have made a difference? : )
Add me to the list of people who freak out and madly clean the house before people come over. I found your writing on *why* we might do this to be extremely insightful.
And add me to the list of people who find you to be a fantastic i-hostess. (hostess d'internet?) You have created a warm, open, supportive place. When my husband lost his job, there were very few places I could "talk" about it. But one day, I got up the courage to become a whining Wednesday pixie. Just writing about it made me feel better. And I got an award, to boot! For whining. It just doesn't get better than that....
As for the desserts, I've been there. I don't have any answers - but as someone else wrote, as a coping mechnicism - it's not sooo bad. (certainly better than drugs, alchohol, kicking your cat or listening to Kenny Rogers' new album.)
((hugs))
I want to give you a hug in person!!
Phantom, you are not only an excellent hostess here but also in your home! I know--I've been there!!!!
Many times!!!! And each and every time, you were a wonderful hostess, and plus you make the best blueberry tea in the world, in the most wonderful mugs.
Anyway, it's weird to know there are so many marathoners on our street. Feel free to come down to this end anytime, where our most rapid speed could generously be called an amble.
Seriously, though, I can totally relate to the feeling of anxiety that someone is going to find out that something "is not right here". I have that too. And as a kid, we literally never had people over, partly because my parents had no friends, and partly because the house was always "too messy". It was, but that doesn't explain why the shades always had to be pulled, etc. The dysfunction of the house does, though, and the abuse.
These feelings of someone discovering something not right are, as I think you rightly said, a remnant of (at least partially) desperately wishing that someone would have come into our childhood home, and realized how "not right" it was, and rescued us. Even though at the time we were deperately trying to make the whole outside world think it WAS alright.
Sigh.
It's so hard to be carrying this around still, and so depressing that we are both doing it. On the other hand, imagine me being the one to say all you said in your blog, and I know you would reassure me that I am doing a wonderful job of creating a family where everything is (as much as possible) "right" and healthy. And you TOTALLY are doing that too!
Noone's perfect, and people with perfectly clean houses are dysfunctional in their own ways.
Remember one important thing:
We have seen into the window at what and who you and your family are, and we love you despite (and because of) the "baggage" you carry around from your childhood. It makes you a deep, and caring, and real, and empathetic person.
Lots and lots of hugs from down the street.
And....um...pass the ice cream?
Love,
How unfair that those deep feelings from childhood continue to haunt you. I am married to an introverted man who grew up in a household with a mentally ill mother -- and he has struggled with some of those same issues. (Not a coincidence, I suppose, that he would marry an opposite -- an extrovert who fills the house with people constantly.)
How hard it is to stop those tapes that play inside our heads.
But I think articulating what is going on -- naming it, sharing it -- is an important part of the healing process.
Everybody else said it already, but I'd like to say it too. You are not alone. I feel the same shame and anxiety over having company over (someone please remind me why I'm hosting Thanksgiving this year?)
And you are so warm and welcoming, caring and giving, I hope you can stop punishing yourself for feeling what so many of us do.
Love and kisses.
What Neighbor Lady said. Because I can't say it any better than that.
You are the most wonderful, gracious, warm i-hostess there is. I know of no other spot that has the bloggy goodness that is the pixie party - and you created it, and you bring people back here again and again.
You are e-beloved!!!
And, I always mega-stress about having anyone over, other than close friends (who've mostly seen my dorm room, and my house isn't any worse than that). When people come over, I think "Clutter! they see the clutter! the crumbs I didn't notice! the things we never put away! we are such SLOBS and it's my fault because I'm The Wife -- even though DH is more of a slob than I am -- and I am a bad wife/mother b/c I'm a slob and keep a slobby house!"
That is the mental tape I run. I would like to smash it, but haven't figured out how yet. It makes anxiety grab me right in the chest.
I grew up in a pretty functional two-person family, but the pre-guest cleaning frenzy is definitely something I picked up from my mom (we both also have pre-trip packing frenzy).
anyway, we all love you and we've seen everything you've written, all your baggage and who cares! You're YOU, and that's who we love.
Yeah. I feel the same way.
Having people over is horribly stressful no matter which way you look at it, and good on you for doing something to get the neighbourhood together. When I was a kid I hardly ever knew other kids that lived nearby. Hard work you did but well worth it.
I just want to thank all of you for commenting on this one. It helps me to know that others of you feel this way sometimes, too -- maybe it's part of life, and not just my usual blah blah blah crazy mother blah blah blah.
I do see the rather pointed irony of complaining about the shame and embarrassment I feel over hosting a gathering at my house, when so many of you show up for this virtual gathering on a regular basis. I appreciate that you come, whether you're commenting or reading quietly. Perhaps if I could think of the neighbors as being as understanding, insightful, and eloquent as all of y'all pixies, I wouldn't be so anxious about it. (And, ok, I'll say it -- if any of them had actually turned out to be as understanding, insightful, and eloquent as you guys, my anxiety would have probably dissipated as the evening went on.)
Anyway. Thank you so much for the kind words. I will be thinking about everything you've said when I prepare for the final leg of the Hospitality Sweepstakes -- cooking dinner for my parents on Monday.
Tomorrow I'm going to blog about how Neighbor Lady set the standard for turning neighbors into friends back when LG was a toddler. Y'all should be so lucky to have Neighbor Lady living on your street!
Everyone else has already said all the things I wanted to, so I'm probably just being repetitive. But I think these things are worth repeating...You are a wonderful, warm hostess to all of us, always. You make us feel welcome, comfortable, heard and content. That's no mean feat. You also write so beautifully and thoughtfully...thank you for sharing all of this with us.
I'm also sorry that your past continues to haunt you, I wish nobody had to go through what you did as a child. But I'm certain that what you learned very painfully back then, has also had a huge influence on shaping the wonderfully kind and compassionate adult you have become. As my therapist says, we can't change our pasts, but we use our experiences to better our futures. It seems very clear to me that you have done that.
I'm sorry your childhood shadows you, and I have no insight to offer - child of alcoholics that I am, I too alternately rummage through and run from my childhood and wonder what I learned from it all and at the end of the day have no "Ah-ha, that's what it was all for" moment.
You rummage beautifully though, and so generously share with us. You'll never get me to say you're not a graceous hostess.
Oh, Phantom. Big hugs.
I wish there was something I could say to make it all better, but I don't. I have a hard time believing that you are not as gracious a hostess at home as you are here, however. Although I am sure the stress of having people over makes you feel much differently about it all.
Late to the scene. I just want to tell you that, like your wonderful Neighbor Lady, I have seen some large snippets of your "real" life and while I totally understand the pain of pretending about your parents and the family into which you were born, I wish I could tell you how the world perceives you. You are brilliant, and funny, and thoughtful. You are soft and caring and are creating a wonderful family for your children. Of COURSE LG had difficulty. There was a ton of pressure on him. He will figure it out. And you will help him. Even those of us who love to have a crowd around and don't appear to sweat the small stuff have party anxiety. Oh, I wish I were there to give you a real hug, instead of having to settle for sending this:
(((((PHANTOM))))) ((((LG))))
I love you all. You are wonderful.
Have some ice cream for me, and don't hate yourself afterward.
Just wanted to add my hugs.
Another eloquent, thoughtful, and deeply moving post. Cripes, doesn't it get boring for you? 
I don't know if there's much I can add after all these great pixie comments, but I'll try approaching it from another angle.
Me, I actually like hosting people and wish we did more of it. I, too, am a horrible housekeeper and yeah, I do register some shame in that area, but ultimately I just say fuck it. Whatever. If the house is messy but the company is good and the cocktails/pizza/whatever are plentiful, people really don't care...
And if they DO care, well then--what a lovely way to ciphon off some assholes out of your life. Maybe you should think of it as a Jerk Test, with one question: Do you care about whether or not I dusted? Yes? Then don't let the door hit you on the ass. Make it THEIR problem, in other words, rather than adopting as your own.
All that being said, I am in awe of having that many strangers over. Because yes, I love hosting, but I only love hosting people I ALREADY KNOW. I've lived in this town for four years now and made one (1) new friend. Uno.
I dutifully attend playgroups, Enriching Activities, and "girls nights out" with a bunch of very sweet-seeming strangers and sit there, silent, wanting to stab a fork in my own eye. It's like I made all the friends I was going to make by 1999 and am now out of small talk.
So screw the housekeeping, you're still my hero.
Much love,
Vex
Sorry, don't know why that went anono-post on me... 'Tis Vex.
I promised PROMISED the kids I would go outside just as soon as I checked my e-mail, and of course that includes your blog, and now dammit, if I don't write something I will feel like I have abandoned you and it will haunt me all day and I will not be able to avoid turning back on the computer even though my mother arrives tonight and I must CLEAN. So this will be (already is) the lamest comment ever.
I'm sorry you have this legacy and I'm sorry that binge eating is one of the results. I binge eat, too, it's one of the Big Issues To Tackle. Let me point out that you come by your social stress honestly, from what little I/we know of your childhood, and that most parents of preschoolers stress about them, even without any particular legacy.
And then let say, You Invited The Neighbors For Pizza. Yay, you. Seriously: big, enormous kudos to you. You are doing what you want to do to make the neighborhood a better place for your kid. So give yourself an enormous pat on the back for that, because you damn well deserve it.
And yeah, next time you will stress about stressing about LG's reactions, in addition to everything else. Because parenthood, dammmit, teaches us that we haven't grown nearly as much as we'd hoped, when it comes to self-improvement or even the ability to improve upon past performance. We can't keep our promises to ourselves the way we would like to.
I don't know. I seem to be trending toward "it's not that big a deal" territory when I'm trying to say, you are not alone.
You are not alone.
Plus, you're a great hostess. Look at this blog, woman.
[I should end there, but really: I have the dirtiest house in the neighborhood. Right This Minute, the kids have written their names in the dust in the window-wells, and it will be the first thing Mom will mention. Even though yesterday, hard on the heels of her Monday comment, "Are the kids going to be that loud in the car?" she reminded me that, because we'll be at the beach for most of the weekend, "you don't have to clean!" So: yech. But also: I would rather keep hosting people in spite of my dirty house than hide. I think there's something comforting about being with people who know that the gathering is what counts, not the amount of dust on the mantel.
Also, I have a couple of friends whose houses (not in this particular neighborhood, but in this town) are dirtier. Find a couple of those, and you'll feel better. A little more petty and bitchy, yes, but better about entertaining.]
I had a friend once who told me I had better not clean the peanut butter off the window just for her visit....
You're a wonderful and thoughtful host here and I hope that if you're ever nearby, you'll feel free to drop in.
I do still get a bit uptight about gathering folks, but it's so much a part of mr. t's family/friends, that I'm learning to get through it.
the house still isn't clean.
Big hugs
You guys are teh nicest, you know that? Y'all want to come over for, you know, pizza and a Weh Hox game? Seriously, you really have made me feel a lot better. I didn't even binge-eat the leftover desserts last night. (OK, I didn't have to, because I knew Mr. Blue and the kids were coming home with ice cream, but still.) Maybe they will last until Monday, and I can feed them to my parents. That would be too, too appropriate, no?
It's like I made all the friends I was going to make by 1999 and am now out of small talk.
Maybe it's just that the party is over, it's out of time, Vex? I'm glad I got in under the wire, in any event. (Holy frickin' linoleum, we have known each other for more than TWENTY YEARS now.)
Jody, you're totally making me laugh. I promise I would not feel like you had abandoned me if you had to clean your house for your mom instead of commenting on this post. And I further promise that the next time you're in town, I will invite you over and not dust *anything* first.
The truth is, with friends that I already know, I restrict my cleaning issues to wiping down the grimiest kitchen surfaces, dust-busting the ground-up food on the floor of the front room, and doing a quick health-department check of the downstairs bathroom. (The only exception I sometimes make is when Tall Kate comes over, and I realize that she can actually see surfaces that have been coated with dust for years.)
Anyone who read Claire's blog knows this already, but she *is* the hostess I always picture when I think of someone being gracious and making everyone feel welcome. The parties she used to throw in her little apartment! We couldn't have been more comfortable if we'd been in a mansion.
Nothing to say that hasn't already been said, but I'm grateful for The Island of Misfit Pixies that has sprung up here.
And as an introverted performer myself, I can sympathize with LG and just hope that he learns how to distinguish between playing to an audience and making friends. And if he does, maybe he can teach me.
And as a self-hater myself (reflexive much), I say we call a moratorium on all the "fucking growth experiences." Starting now.
Hey... I read your blog all the time and I hope you don't mind! Especially because I never comment. And I'm not really sure how to say this any other way.... but I think you're really cool. You are honest, and brave, and kind... and real. And good for you, to put yourself out there... not only here, but also with your neighbors. And I bet everyone left your house thinking how nice it was of you and Mr. Blue to have everyone over. And the only thing that sounds freaky about it is that all of your neighbors love runninng marathons.
My husband and I (and 6 monther) are moving to your state in a few weeks. I'd love to meet up... even if it's at a museum. Or you can come over and check out our dust bunnies...
Am getting all weepy over Neighbor Lady's comment. She said what I wanted to but couldn't get out. And said it so beautifully.
I think I've mentioned here and certainly elsewhere that I am an introvert. But sometimes I appear to be other than what I am. When I first started my current "job" I complained to the sqvirrel that some work people seemed to be ignoring me. And he offered the opinion that they might be intimidated by me. Because I have my shit all together. I was completely stymied. I couldn't believe that's what I looked like to the outside world. So I have a feeling the same thing happens with you, Phantom. I bet all those neighbors went home and said to their partners, "I wish Phantom was a runner; she would be a good running partner." And if they didn't, well, let them float gently away from your life (feels like I'm paraphrasing someone there), aside from friendly hellos on the street.
And yes to the clean houses can be dysfunctional too. I lived with someone (an ex) for 6 years who insisted that our house look like the ones in House Beautiful, Architectural Digest, etc. It was pretty hellish for this girl whose college dormroom floor was *famous* for not being seen for months on end due to clothes, papers, junk. And my ex was quite profoundly dysfunctional, not only clinically obsessive-cumpulsive but also really crappy family life. So, although I am tidier than I used to be (which isn't hard!), I've learned that somewhere in the middle is okay. Breathe deep. And remeber that all us e-pixies all adore you! And that the people that truly *know* the woman behind this blog love the deep-down-you.
Whew. I keep trying to comment on this post, but I'm afraid if I start, all of my childhood neuroses will spill out. No one wants to see that, trust me.
I really relate to this post. Maybe some day we can get together and talk about it over a big sundae. But not at my place, because it's a freaking disaster in here. Or a pig sty, as my mom would say.
ok first: you rock. vide claire, et al.
second, any housekeeping you do is automatically a zillion times more than i do. have I ever shared my tips for cleaning the house? here they are: 1) paint over the dirt 2) move away from the dirt.
seriously. I've lived in many places, and I'm quite a handy painter. cleaning? not so much.
Not much to add to what everyone else has said so well but (((((PS))))) from me and Suzanne.
Gary, what totally put LG over the edge that night was when Mr. Blue insisted that we play some of LG's recorded songs for the guests. He was beside himself with embarrassment, even though he was also clearly very proud that his daddy wanted to show off his songs like that.
But you've hit LG's nail exactly on the head. He doesn't know the difference between making friends and performing for an audience. (He also doesn't know how to modulate his performance based on the size of the audience.) Damn. That's brilliant. Thanks, Gary. Now I have a better idea of what I need to help him figure out.
Casey, you are totally on for the future ice cream sundae.
Turtlebella, I think I project a fairly incompetent persona to the world (like on teh blog, in the real world I always lead with my inadequacies), but I suppose there could be somebody who might not be paying attention and therefore think that I had my shit together. Maybe. But to be honest, I didn't get the sense that most of the neighbors were paying any attention to me one way or the other. In fact, maybe it's the feeling of invisibility that made me really feel self-hatred. Of course, my major disjunction between how I perceive myself in the world and how I'm actually perceived is that I think I'm generally invisible and don't take into account the effects that I'm actually having on other people.
Hi Daughter of Brother of Grandma Blue! Glad to see you here, and thrilled that you're moving into this state. (And blushing about the kind words....) I'll email you about getting together.
Other people have already said it, but yeah, your friends here do get a glimpse into your head and your life. And guess what? To a person, I think we'd all love to come over, hang out, play with your wonderful kids (both of them), and all be quite impressed and jealous with how many books you have (books! hooray!).
You say you "lead with your inadequacies." In some ways, I think that means you have your shit together more than most. I mean, at least you know what your inadequacies are. Many people don't. (Although I will posit that some of your "inadequacies" are overblown or perceived only as such by you - which doesn't necessarily make them any less real, unfortunately.) Self-awareness is a good thing to have.
(((Phantom)))
I do hear what you're saying about the pressure to have a "normal" house, and I think it's particularly bad for women. I mean, I grew up in a profoundly messy house (not garbage-messy, but definitely towering stacks of papers and books messy), and D. also grew up in a cluttering household, and most days I don't mind the strewing of shoes and books and papers. But when guests enter the picture... even guests with their own messiness issues (like D's mother - he learned his cluttering from her), I get all anxious about the state of the house. I definitely feel like I will be judged on how clean things are, and we're not even talking white-glove clean -- I worry about whether a stack of books is too messy or acceptable clutter, and whirl around in a dither as a result. D., on the other hand, doesn't seem too concerned one way or another -- perhaps because on a subconsious level we all realize that it's the "woman of the house" who gets the blame if things aren't as they should be. (In other matters of etiquette, he's far more fretty than me.)
This probably part of why only two people have been in our house since we moved in almost a year ago. (And yet -- we're having three people over Monday. EEE.) The thing that's sad is that I _like_ doing fun social things with friends... it's just that I rarely feel like my house on an ordinary day is fit for people who just "drop by" - so it gets all blown out of proportion when someone does come for a visit, even a brief one.
What's particularly sad about this is that some of my fondest memories are attached to just hanging out in sociable groups with family friends who did have messy houses, and no one cared. It was a comfortable sort of mess, the kind where you didn't worry about spilling your drink on the sofa or knocking a book onto the floor or coming in dusty from a long hike. These same people are amazing hosts, too, able to bring together huge crowds of interesting people at a moment's notice and have it all work. I really wish I had that degree of confidence and sang froid, because I always loved visiting and staying with them, and yet I don't.
I got nothin' that hasn't been said before. So hugs to you. I think you rock.
I'm with everyone here. I have a horror of hosting for a very different reason - my own mother's amazing skills make me all too aware of how pale my own are in comparison, but I know well the sensation of hosting a party completely outside of the party and not being able to enjoy a moment of it, just praying that it ends without mishap, big or small.
I don't know how you get past this, since I haven't my own self, but try to remember all the stuff you do right, which is a lot or those kids wouldn't be so damned smart.
I was going to pick up the phone and CALL you after reading this post, but then I found myself mentioned by name (ahem) and felt I had to chime in a little to say yes, I'm still here, lurking, and I could not care less about dust ANYWHERE, even if I am the only one who can see it
Seriously, Phantom, my heart just goes out to you. I wish I could wave a magic wand and make your self-hatred disappear. I wish you could see yourself as many, many others perceive you. Incredibly bright, funny, articulate . . .
{{{{{{{{Phantom}}}}}}}}}
What everyone else said.....just know how much we all appreciate you here.
I am definitely NOT the "hostess with the mostest" myself, and I know well the anxiety involved with having guests. As I get older I am learning to relax about it and let it go...I hope that will happen for you. But I know that doesn't address your deeper hurts--I hope that you will find healing there,too.
What I meant really was that, if I didn't get my thoughts about your dilemma down, they would spin around in my head all day, making it harder and harder to avoid the computer, rendering me a more and more distracted mom, and it was better for me just to type something up quickly so I could get to the business of being with my kids.
I still spent another 20 minutes on the computer, though. Expect to hear more about this issue as the summer progresses. I can never seem to keep my promises to myself, let alone to other people. It's exceedingly distressing.
BUT, to stop talking about myself finally, let me tell you that I finally read the link, and have to say: WHAT? Your husband invited only the childfree neighbors? No WONDER you were stressed. Just never do that again. ALWAYS invite at least one other family with youngish children, so that there will be at least one couple guaranteed to have sympathy for the antics of four-year olds and the state of your house. Easier to have to host the childfree folks in two batches, divided amongst your with-child friends, than stress about the unknown expectations or experiences of the as-yet-still childfree.
(I'd like to believe that I would have been a WONDERFUL childfree friend to invite, back in the day, but I'm operating under the assumption that you don't know most of these people very well. I'm not trying to be anti-childfree, just pro-Phantom mental health.)
And finally, when this has happened to me, that I've been embarrassed by my kid's behavior, I've managed to move quickly from embarrassment to self-loathing, through the simple mechanism of getting embarrassed, then angry that I was embarrassed (why can't these people be more simpatico?!), and then worried that my kid would pick up on my embarrassment and lose that delightful ability to go on being himself that I don't ever once remember from my own self-conscious performance-anxiety-ridden childhood. So I start with discomfort and finish with self-loathing about the possible implications of my discomfort (i.e., that I Am A Bad Mother). And it's really stupid, no? And I'm working on it. And if any of that was going on with LG last night, know that you are the perfect mother for that little boy. Really, really, truly.
And again: never, ever invite relative strangers to your house unless at least one of them has kids. Better yet, make sure at least one guest or set of guests both has kids and knows you well.
(Notice how I managed to circle nicely around back to MEMEME again in the middle there? Uh, yeah.)
Best comment thread ever. The pixies are great. Does anyone think it's funny that every time one of us says they feel inadequate, sub-par, or just plain out of place, we all say, "me too." Is everyone in the world a misfit or is it just us pixies? Seriously, I wonder about this.
what everyone else said. i agree with making sure other kids are there. and potlucks -- really, when people bring something, they have an investment!
i'd like to say i don't worry about entertaining, but i am famous in my own family for freaking out with a housekeeping frenzy before holidays and other "guest" events. my husband always helps by changing the oil in the car. seriously -- like his mother's going to check the oil... i've stopped the worst of the cleaning frenzy, but not the consciousness of dust and grime. well, if they don't like it, tough nuggets -- and maybe i'll stop worrying about a little mess someday, too.
Oh, my god. I feel you. I love to have people over, but I still get that whole - everyone thinks I'm a loser thing.
I hate that it happens, and I try to work myself down, but it's not easy.
Maybe I'll join you in the marathon. HA!
I'm late to the comments, but I wanted to say thank you for the post. My self-hatred comes from different things (mostly what I do at the party, a la LG, rather than how the party works as a whole) but your post and the comments are wonderful in making me feel less weird.
And thanks again for hosting a great party here!
Wow, I'm overwhelmed by this post, the comments, and the feeling that I've been out of touch with such an important conversation here. (It's been an almost entirely web-free week, alas.) I doubt you're still reading, but, fwiw: I too am freaked out by having people I don't know very well in my home, and I basically manage to avoid the situation at all costs. There are few situations, in fact, that bring on such intense shame and embarrassment. And I too feel that you are a remarkable hostess here: I marvel at your social skills on a regular basis.
Anyway, I have nothing eloquent or insightful to add, but only want to say that you (and anyone with two small children) should call a moratorium on all social events that mainly involve childless marathon runners.
Hugs from this corner, too. Two things in my mind as I read this post: 1) what everyone else already said about what a great blog hostess you are, and 2) I completely, completely empathize with your distress. Wish I didn't, but there it is. 
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