Slow down

So, with homeschooling my three littles, making everything from scratch, gardening, housekeeping, engaging my community in dance-along and heading up the neighborhood association, people ask me how I do it all. It's simple, really: I don't. It's impossible to maintain a balance with so many balls juggling in the air, and inevitably one (or usually more than that) will fall to the ground. My husband, bless his dear heart, is constantly wishing for a cleaner, more organized house; my delightful children are always asking for more or less or different things to do; my plants only manage to survive if they're in the ground and are not dependent on my managment. You get the picture.
I've been having some wonderful discussions about life schedules with my dearest sister Tami who does everything I do and more with two girls and twin three-year-olds. She's always been more of a stay-at-homer while I plan out-of-the-house activities almost daily. We've both begun to desire true community in these recent years and are stumbling upon some interesting revelations: Like everything else good and pure in the world, true community comes not from our hard labor, but from an organic evolution.
When we stop straining our lives to maximize our time and fill every moment with something (activities, classes, meetings, scheduled playdates, etc.) and start to let go of unimportant things (like gymnastics for a 3-yr-old) both physically and mentally (it doesn't help if you're guilty about not going!), we can breathe a little easier. Our days become less constricting and we have more freedom.
What is our most natural community? The one we don't have to drive across town to meet or schedule three hours Sunday morning to fellowship with or attempt meaningful conversation in 15 minute intervals at pick-up or drop-off times? Our home. Our neighborhood. The place you live and are most relaxed, most yourself. Why try so hard to fill our lives with people out there when there are so many people at home. This is one of many reasons we've stopped attending church; we always felt like although the friendships developed were beautiful, it seemed so fake to bring everyone together from all different parts of town to create this artificial community. I don't mean to sound like a pure pessimist--there are some great things about the institutes of religion we've established--but we've decided it's not for us. We'd rather spend that time investing in our neighbors. At least we like the idea better.
So, back to juggling. I am attempting a paradigm shift. I'd like to drop the balls and look at the people around me, watching me and my foolish game. I want to meet them, talk to them, become a part of them instead of apart from them. You. Mrs. Beach. Ms. Velma. I'd like my house to be an open door for anyone in the neighborhood (even if you're driving through!). Lord help me, I want to slow down.