As 2018 comes to a close, I’m opening up my home to family and friends in a way I have never had the luxury of experiencing before. That’s one of the perks I suppose of having your own place–and one that’s bigger than a shoe box–you can welcome more guests into your home and heart.

Slowly, I’m getting the hang of hosting these dinner parties, craft fests, fight nights, birthday parties, and bake-offs. I make mistakes. I don’t have quite enough dishes or furniture for most of these gatherings. I experiment with flavors when I shouldn’t. I don’t make quite enough food. I run out of time to change into clean clothes. I buy too much beer and drink too much wine.

It’s magic–connecting with the people who make up our community in our home. 

There are fewer brunches and bar crawls and instead more babies and baked goods. We squash too many bodies onto fur coated couches, we settle in around a narrow table. We have long conversations. We play card games and fight over dessert. 

The greatest moment is one that feels golden. It usually happens as things are winding down. Where there is a pause in the conversation, and everyone is comfortable, warm, and perhaps a wee bit tipsy. In that moment is love. 

The joy of family and friends eating well in my home is a wonderful gift I’m thankful for. I have so much to grateful for in my life. Staggeringly, unbelievably so. I love so many and receive so much. I get to create every day. I get paid to write, which is a mind-boggling statement. I’m married to a wonderful human. But this year, the first year I lived in a house where dinner parties happen, I’m most grateful for those golden moments of contentment surrounded by family and friends.


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