I have people coming over tomorrow. Real. People.

I mean, people that I'm not all too familiar with. Our play group has these snazzy little Mini-est Member Play Dates, and tomorrow is my day to host at my home. I don't want to clean my house, but I have to. I mean, a girl can't really have people over to a dump, can she?

I want my house to smell nice and I want it to be nice in general.

But let's get this straight: I'm not cleanin' it to the bones. That will only serve to ensure that I have to tidy beyond the fullest before the next get together. And we don't want that, do we? No.

I resolve, today, to clean my home to the point of normalcy and not beyond it. I don't want these moms I barely know to think too much of me. I want them to see what I've got, not despise it, but not feel pleasant enough about the situation to want to stay all day.

At the last Mini Play date -- held at my friend Erin's home -- two of the members made it their mission to camp out all day long. They stayed from 10am to a little after 4pm...which is, in fact, ridiculous. I will have it be known that no one will be staying past 1:30pm, whereby Adrien needs his nap and Momma needs some breathin' room.

I don't have a perfect house to present. It's not decorated just so. In fact, I'd hardly count it "decorated". I have a few random things hung on the wall...a wrought iron cross on the wall in the living room, a painting done by Andi's grandmother above the mantle. I do have my mantle haphazardly decorated with various Willow Tree knick knacks and candles. But my house is not model by any means. The carpet has stains. The furniture is all hand-me-down (except our bedroom suite, which no one will see). My walls are all (for the most part, save the blue office) the same color off-white the builder slapped up on every surface. The landscaping that is out front has weeds and grass growing throughout it...but the grass is freshly cut and the sidewalk edged. My home is rough around the edges just like me: relatively new, but not all dawled up for the everyday event.

So I want to send the right message to these moms I hardly know (save one, Erin, who's a good friend): I am not perfect, my house is not either...and that's a perfectly planned affair.

I will be the happy hostess and serve pumpkin biscuits and cranberry-almond scones (yes, I'm ripping a Starbucks recipe off -- but better, of course). I'm not doing it to be June Cleaver. I'm doing it so they'll realize just how much culinary talent I have.

I want them to swoon.

And then promptly leave.