house tours suck

After living in Florida for almost 8 years, I finally invited our nearby family over to our house this past weekend. There’s no real reason why I’ve never had them over. I simply get caught up in the day-to-day of our lives. Plus, entertaining house guests is literally not my thing at all.

But my in-laws were visiting and we had no big plans going on so I figured why not invite the cousins over. The extended fam came over and, as we were all chatting in the kitchen, someone mentioned doing a tour of the house. Immediately, my stomach sank. A house tour, really? Must we do this? Let’s just stay in the kitchen and pretend like the rest of the space doesn’t exist.

I really don’t care to give a tour of my house. Mind you, I love touring other people’s homes. I enjoy seeing their decorations and what personal touches they added. Kidding myself that I am getting ideas for my home even though I will most likely never implement them. But, when it comes to showing off my house, I don’t like it…

Because my house is an un-finished catastrophe.

Catastrophe

I have four kids (and a husband).
Ok, really I don’t need to say anything else. That fact alone should give you a sense for what this place looks like. But, let me elaborate just a tad. There are toys in literally every room of the house. Like a dog peeing on things to claim its ownership, I think Evie leaves her shit everywhere to mark her territory. There was a basketball tucked behind the door in my hall bathroom the other day. Why?!

Then, I swear every surface and piece of furniture doubles as a clothing rack. There are constantly shirts draped over things, dirty socks left in corners or on the kitchen counter (the mother effing kitchen counter!!!), and underwear sitting on the floor by the toilet. There are shoes scattered around the floor near my entry, in every spot but the actual shoe closet. There’s hair on the floor because I shed like a dog and my daughters brush their hair in any place they please. Random blue stains on walls and light switches. You get the drift.

You might come to my house and not see this hot mess. Because you’re blind. But I see it. So, to preserve my sanity, I really like to contain guest eyes to the minimal amount of space possible. Giving a tour of my house just showcases my entire house of crazy.

Unfinished

I am not a decorator. Don’t worry, Joanna Gaines, your job is safe. In my old house, I only hung two things on my wall the entire 3 years we lived there and only purchased decor when we were preparing the house to sell. Here, I have done things in certain areas. Hung a big clock in the kitchen. Bought a couple fake plants and dust collectors for my shelves. I had to do this because, if not, the place would look like an insane asylum with all the white. I would really love to have more things on my walls, rugs on my floors, light fixtures, and maybe even some wallpaper if we are feeling frisky. But I don’t. I’ll get there eventually……..maybe.

Now, as I walk around with people during my house tour, I feel like I have to apologize for the mess and make excuses for things.

“Sorry it looks like a bomb went off in here. Evie likes to play paw patrol while she’s taking a crap.”
“This is the loft. We don’t have any real furniture in here yet because Evie likes to inflate her jumpy pit up here.”
“Here’s the master closet. It doubles as a nursery so that’s why it smells like diapers and there’s a changing table in here.”
“Sorry for the hair on the floor. I swear it’s like glitter. Never goes away.”
“Excuse the Christmas tree in my bedroom. Evie cried when we started to put it away so it’s still up.”

Yada, yada, yada.

Point of this rant is that I don’t like giving house tours. I don’t like showing off my house. I don’t know why people would want to see a room with white walls and a bed. It’s not impressive. So just come in the kitchen and drink some wine but not enough to need to pee because my downstairs bathroom isn’t finished yet and there’s likely underwear by the toilet, brown smears on the light switch that are hopefully Nutella, and of course, hair on the floor.