THE TRUITT HOUSE EDIT
Come with us as we tell meaningful stories of preservation, restoration and hospitality. Explore Suffolk, Virginia’s rich history and share in our favorite experiences at The Truitt House.
The Storm Before The Party
Winter storms do not reward panic. They reward preparation—and then a willingness to let go.
You can make your lists, stock the pantry, and set things in motion, but once the sky decides, you’re no longer in charge. That isn’t so different from hosting.
You do your best work in advance. You think through the menu, the timing, the details that make people feel cared for. And then you step back. The weather will do what it does. People will arrive as they are. The night will be as good as the spirit you bring to it.
A Proper Table Is Not a Suggestion
Every host who has ever set a proper table knows this moment. The flowers are just so. The cards are written in your best hand. You’ve thought not only about who should sit where, but why — who will draw whom out, who needs a buffer, who will carry the conversation without realizing they’re doing the work. It’s invisible labor, and it’s the whole point.
Which is why nothing lands quite the same way as discovering that someone has quietly decided your careful arrangement was… optional.
Today’s Dear Mom question isn’t really about place cards. It’s about what happens when the structure you built — thoughtfully, generously — is treated as a suggestion. And what a host owes herself in that moment.
When You Want to Include Everyone But Don’t Have Enough Space…
My dining room table seats twelve. I’ve squeezed in fourteen more times than I can count, and it was cozy — the conversation was easy, the candles burned low, and it just felt right, the way it does when everyone’s happy to be there.
The point is, we were around the dining room table. Once you start reaching for the piano bench and the folding chairs, the evening takes on a whole different kind of personality. That’s perfectly fine — if it’s what you want. But if it isn’t, this is where a good host learns the art of making choices.
Dear Mom, How Do I Host - Prime Rib or Piñata? On Knowing When Not to Repeat Yourself
You host the same thing every year.
It’s not fancy. It’s just the dinner people associate with you — the one they ask about in advance. Someone always wants to know if you’re making that dish again, and you always say yes, because that’s what you do.
You don’t look at a recipe. You don’t debate the menu. You pull out the same serving pieces because they’re already right there. You know how long everything takes because you’ve done it enough times to stop thinking about it.