We have been talking about our exchange student from Spain for weeks. Which room should we give her? What foods would she like? Will Benjamin fall apart in an awkward fiasco? Is our home as welcoming as what she is accustomed to? 

 

Even our kids in three other states are involved. In an elaborate schedule of phone calls, siblings will engage Ben around four thirty, when he might have a tendency to escalate, and hopefully resettle him by the time our daughters and their all important guest arrived home from school. We even took the plunge and had the entryway painted a lovely shade of mango, clearing out too small coats to the thrift store. Aurelle made the bed with the prettiest quilts, and I set a vase of daffodils on her nightstand. After hours of cleaning and tucking surplus clutter out of sight, we were ready. 

 

For so much build up, I kind of expected her to be bigger than life. But when I was finally introduced, it became clear that she is just a person. 

 

All of our collective angst seemed misguided. This sweet Spaniard did not come to inspect the dust on my floor, or to pass judgment on the state of my kitchen. On the contrary, her attention was clearly on my pleasure at the thoughtful house gifts she had wrapped and ready in her suitcase. Sweet almond butter, which is a tradition at Christmas, an apron with icons of Valencia, and coasters with pictures from her beloved country.

 

The first three days have sailed by with no hiccups, and I have a feeling the rest of the week will too. Call me an optimist. Of course there is the midpoint of Wednesday, when we will offer a chance to wash her clothes. Maybe I can whisk them away for her and spare her the gloom of the basement. Which does have spiders.