Why I’ll never say no to hosting guests at my home
Kristin van Ogtrop is an extrovert who is easily bored. That’s why she loves it when people come to stay.
The day I lost my laptop charger was the day I finally understood that my house – average, suburban, messy – was actually a bed-and-breakfast. And I’d been running it with varying degrees of success for years.
First, the charger. You probably know the unique kind of panic you feel when your laptop battery is nearly dead, and you can’t find its charger. Which explains the hair-on-fire group text I sent to my husband and sons last week with the suggestion that one of them had, yet again, taken it from the drawer of mismatched cords in our kitchen. Not me, came the chorus of replies. Liars!
Or were they? After all, 10 people had slept at our house the previous night – on beds, on the floor, on the sofa downstairs – and it was possible that one of them had accidentally stuck it in their bag when they were packing up.
Pop quiz: When a person (close friend/ relative/random team-mate of your nephew's who your nephew swears is a great kid) mentions that they will be passing through your area, do you: A) Hand them a list of local sights and wish them luck, or B) Hand them a pillow and the key to your front door?
Some of us divide the world into early birds and night owls. I divide the world into people who have the B&B gene and those who don’t, and if you passed on A above, you fall into the latter category. (With me! Here, take my key.)
When my husband and I bought our house, I didn’t set out to host the masses. I envisioned a serene place just the right size for a family of five and the occasional visiting grandparent.
And my town is not exactly what you’d call a “destination”. It’s got leash laws and, if the wind is blowing the right way, the noise of traffic on Interstate 95 whistles through the trees in the backyard.
But I live outside New York City, where apparently a lot of stuff happens that all sorts of people want to experience. And half of them have stayed at my house. Because when you have the B&B gene, that’s just what happens.
Sometimes, I bring it on myself. Over a casual beer a few years ago, my college room-mate mentioned that her daughter would be in New York the following summer for a fashion internship. My mouth said, “She should just live with us!’’ before my brain had time to think about it.
Never mind that I had met the daughter only once or twice; the next thing I knew, she was at our doorstep. Kate was an ideal summer guest, effortlessly blending into our life, and now she kindly answers my texts when I'm wondering whether my shoes go with my outfit.
More often, though, guests reach out to make reservations. We have hosted relatives from Europe; one son’s fraternity brothers; another son’s room-mates; a friend’s elderly parent; my kids’ former babysitter; a sizeable portion of a college soccer team; and, for a couple of weeks, a local girl who was having problems at home.
Our house never feels as orderly as I once imagined, but there always seem to be clean sheets when we need them.
My husband, God bless him, is a more-the-merrier type. I’m lucky that way.
Apparently, early in his marriage, George HW Bush was constantly inviting people for dinners and sleepovers, and it drove his wife, Barbara, a little crazy. But they eventually got to live in a giant house with a whole team of people to accommodate his guests.
I don’t know anybody who lives in the White House, but I do have friends with places that are bigger and more beautiful than ours who could provide a far superior overnight experience.
I am no more flexible, generous or entertaining than they are. So, how to explain this compulsion of mine?
I’ve been told there are people in this world who like to start fires just so they can put them out. Something similar happens with the B&B gene.
If you are an extrovert who is easily bored (ie. me), having guests introduces a level of chaos that is both thrilling and short-lived. Guests bring energy and funny stories. And they challenge your perspectives, which we all need from time to time.
Without fail, the day after guests leave, I am reminded that a manageable life is ... a little dull. But there’s a bright side: Once I put my house back together, that charger may finally show up.