Last spring, as summer stared at us wide in the face, bright and alert, screaming energy and lurking for attention, so did my newborn son. Only a few weeks old and he would stay awake twelve hours a the day, no sleep to ensure, and his toddler sister never stopped -- not her full-blown personality or her eyelids.
A friend was over and I started for the cupboard and laughed, half apologizing, half throwing my hands in my air at this blessed predicament and said: "We're in a season of paper plates. Sorry, that's all I got around here. No time to unload the dishes, no time to eat real dinners, so I'm dishing up whatever I've got and throwing it on paper plates and calling it good. There, I fed my family, and now I throw the plate away. I've got to minimize anything around here that I can."
She laughed, smirking and shrugging, "Us too! I told my husband last night that I'm doing paper plates through the summer. Just taking them out, eating on the porch, and throwing them away. Besides, it has to be somewhat cost efficient right -- not running the dishwasher all the time?!" We laughed loud and shook our heads.
Commradery in season.
Life didn't slow down, and neither did our serving of paper plates. We bought them in stacks and shared them relentlessly. Our door kept opening and people kept eating, so paper plates did the job. The minimalist; necessary. Burgers fresh on the grill or simple salad, store-bought cookies or English Muffin breakfasts, paper plates it was. Serve them, dine them, trash them. Breakfast: done. Lunch: done. Dinner: done. Snacks: done. Hospitality: done.
I don't know when I stopped using them, but somewhere near the rounding of fall, I must have thought dishwasher-requiring porcelain plates were back in style in my house. Perhaps with comfort food or hot dishes, real plates seemed necessary. But for months now, I've taken those antiqued white pretties out for every. single. meal.
Today the same friend left my house and I looked back around at the catastrophe of my house. Puzzles askew, grapes spilled over, half-drunk coffees and waters left about. Tonka trucks and drums and duplos and tambourines all littered the floor. The kitchen still dolupped with breakfast dishes piled high; the dishwasher needing unloading. Chaos abound.
I rolled my eyes and smirked. Predicament. What a mess.
Yet: What fun. What friendship. What time in the trenches with our littles. What crazy dinners with our family "around" our table. What tea parties on the kitchen floor. What food cut and sliced and slopped and forked. What people loved and hugged and hosted and homed in this home...
It's important to me to have a home that is... a home. Where kids can run wild, where their hearts are free. Where the indoors of life is trampolines, firetrucks, tutus and kazoos. Where bellies are fed, and meals are eaten united. Where people are welcomed and hosting happens.
Yet this life abundant -- in noise and toys and people and parties -- sometimes needs a little breath, a little filter, a little simplifier...
So, once again, in this spring-time season, I'll still be serving... with paper plates.
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