A guest post by Julie Kang from Geisha School Dropout.
I was complaining to my mom the other day about how hard it is to find family friends in this day and age. "Ai goh, who would want to be your friend? Your house and kids are so dirty, and you are so crazy!" As you can tell, my mom has always been my biggest fan. But she does -- and show me a Korean mom who doesn't -- have a point!
We are a happy family, but I'll admit it: we are messy. My kids, Isaac (5) and Emily (2), constantly have dirt smeared on their faces, unwashable paint stains on their clothing, and you can usually tell what they just had for dinner from the crumbs in their hair. This frathouse level of personal hygiene is coupled with family activities that border on pinko hippie commune: organic gardening (planting with poop), vermicomposting (a bin full of worms we keep next to our dinner table), letting the yellow mellow, and bathing every other day. Our two dogs are given access to all parts of the house, including our beds, so every room reeks of Eau de Canine. Needless to say, my spic-and-span parents don't come over that often, and when they do, we have to tie them down in order to stop them from trying to disinfect the place. They don't understand how it is even legal to live like we do.
So when I first walked into Susie's house, I was immediately struck by the hospital-level cleanliness and order. (We were there to harvest some lemons from a tree in her backyard to donate to our local food bank.) Just beyond the entryway, there stood a glistening grand piano. Next to it was the living room, with white couches and actual ceramic trinkets atop a glass coffee table. I could already hear my mom moaning in pleasure at the sight of the dustless floors, her hand caressing the spotless white tile in the kitchen. Oh yeah, if my mom were to have a sexual fetish, it would be with hard-to-clean surfaces that were clean. She has unhealthy feelings for Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser and her Swiffer.
We got to work, and Susie and I found we had a lot in common: her kids were the same ages as mine, she was also Korean, her husband was also Japanese. Our oldest kids will even attend the same school in the fall. I looked over at them, Susie's daughter a proper little lady compared to my ape of a son, who was pretending to trip over a rake again and again while she tittered politely. When we were done harvesting, I had to walk through that living room again and finally saw a sign of life: one toy fire truck on the floor. Susie tut-tutted and immediately put it away into a perfect fire truck-shaped hole in the toy bin. I tried to imagine the dicomfort Susie and her children would feel if they ever came over to our place, our cluttered little zoo I found so cozy. So when I asked her for her contact info, it was mostly out of politeness.
But a few weekends later, we asked them over for hamburgers and hot dogs anyway. It was a leap of faith, hope, and frankly, loneliness. That day, we cleaned the bathroom, the kitchen, the junk in the backyard. But I could still see one glaring sign of our dirty hippie lifestyle: the worm bin. I moved the bin outdoors, apologizing to the 5000 littlest members of our family all along the way. "Sorry, but they're KOREAN, okay? You can digest your rotten vegetables outside for one night!"
When Susie's family came over, I ushered them directly to the backyard, hoping they didn't inhale along the way. I showed the kids our little pile of toys and told them to have at it. But the little boy, Emily's age, headed straight for the worm bin, asking "What is this stuff?" when he opened the lid. My husband and I rushed over in horror, apologizing to Susie, saying oh dear, don't touch, it's so dirty. But Susie's kids were fascinated by them. So we gave them some limp broccoli and asked them if they wanted to break up the florets to feed to the worms. And Susie, bless her heart, allowed them to do it, and allowed them to turn over the compost afterwards. This was family friend-making trial by fire.
The rest of the evening flew by like a breeze. The kids jumped into dishes of sidewalk paint and decorated our patio with their footprints. They dug holes in the backyard and planted seeds. They climbed trees. They ran all around the house, playing tag and chase and monkey in the middle. By the time dinner was ready, they were all filthy. But we hosed them down, and everyone enjoyed their dinners. All throughout, the parents enjoyed some uninterrupted conversation and marveled at how well everyone was getting along. It was awesome. This super-clean family proved to be resilient and flexible.
When it was time for them to leave, Susie's kids whined that they wanted to come back. "You are always welcome here!" we said, and we meant it. For the first time in my life I realized that our grungy little family, in our disheveled way, can actually contribute something beautiful to a friendship. We can give Susie's kids an outlet to run ragged without fear of breaking anything, teach them how to live closer to the earth, and show them other ways families can live together and love each other. When I later relayed this enchanted evening to my mom, she sniffed, "Watch, they're going to run to the nearest Korean and soon everyone will know you as the Worm Family!"
But they actually thanked us the next day and suggested ways we can hang out again. And now our two houses, in spite of our aesthetic differences, are finding a way to make it work, hopefully forever.
Julie lives in Long Beach, CA, and has been blogging about the glorious indignities of motherhood since 2005.
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