Ben was a little frustrated with me this weekend because I flatly rejected the idea of hosting an impromptu BBQ with friends this weekend. Ben was understandably confused by my outright “no!” response. Once upon a time, in a reality far far away (and never to return) I used to jump on the idea of hosting any kind of social gathering. I love throwing parties! I even have a perfect outdoor dining set, complete with high and low ball glasses and two acrylic margarita pitchers ready to tackle any occasion and any level of intoxication. But in that once-upon-a-time reality people would come over to my house any marvel at the picture perfect spread, all my matching place settings, and a seasonal menu planned out to go with the day or the mood or the occasion. I would even go Martha Stewart on the centerpieces, pulling together marvelous décor from my fruit basket and garden. That reaction, the “Wow Vicki, you really out did yourself this time!” was what motivated me to throw a spectacular party! That was then, but now …
Now we don’t entertain couples, we entertain a circus of play dates and parents and the sheer chaos means that no matter how creatively I slice my pineapple, someone’s kid is just going to try to feed it to our crazy little mutt Charlie or stick it up their nose. No matter how perfect my stemware may be for the party cocktail, my sunset mango margaritas will end up in tasteless plastic cups with melted ice cubes and sticky finger prints all over them. And by the end, when we are saying our goodbyes to our guests, it is full-blown trapeze act as moms toss their little ones screaming into car seats and daddy’s arms and hustle off to their minivans and SUVs to shuttle their little stunt bunnies home to bed. What am I left with? An exhausted baby, a buzzed husband, and a crap load of dishes covered with uneaten fruit arrangements and chicken skewers that would take me weeks to consume on my own.
Then, of course, there is the transformation in my own family. Ben has a blast because he is totally oblivious to the fact that the punch bowl just became the Captain Crunch bowl thanks to Betsy’s son Jack. Thomas is completely over stimulated, and although he begins the party in a perfect pair of surf shorts and a guayavera, he ends up in a stained onesie with food on his face and one sock missing. Even Charlie, our once well mannered and adored mutt, turns into a wild puppy with the energy of so many children and he ends up vomiting all night long from the sheer volume of chips and cheese puffs he was offered by children in exchange for a “sit” or a “roll over”. Then there is me. I spend the whole party picking up choking hazards and trying to navigate my stupid high heels and I go for hours without talking to a single adult. By the end I can barely speak. Not much of a hostess!!!
If any of these parents even have the energy to reflect on their afternoon at our house I assume they would say something like, “Ben and Vicki’s place is a madhouse!” or “Gosh I am glad I don’t have a crazy dog like Charlie!” or “How often do you think they have to bathe Thomas?”
Our house is not, of course, anything like this when we are there all by ourselves. When the commotion stops Thomas eats like its his job, rarely fusses, and his naps run like clockwork. My house is clean, Charlie sleeps like a log on his little bed most of the day, and when we do go on a walk Thomas is dressed in weather appropriate clothing and Charlie walks right next to us like a little show dog. Ben is a loving and doting husband, and he is a sweet and affectionate father. On these normal days the sun sets, the baby goes to bed, and Ben and I get to spend the evening cuddling, talking, watching TV – whatever! It’s so nice. So peaceful. So much more enticing than throwing an awesome party. So that’s why my response to Ben’s BBQ suggestion was so reflexive – NO! It’s too much!
But I also don’t want to spend the next 18 years of my life in solitude for fear of the chaos. I sat Ben down and I explained to him that I don’t want to become a hermit family, but that there are some new rules around here that we need to follow. So I am going to try to throw a little BBQ implementing some of the new anti-chaos rules. I will wear flats. Thomas will have three outfits laid out, ready for wardrobe changes (look, I still want him to look cute, ok!?), and Charlie is going to get a vacation to doggy day care, if not for my sanity then for his health. Ben promises to check in with me after every drink to see what he can do to help out (these bright line rules really work well for the men in my life), and when the party is over he promises to help me tackle the dish assembly line. And finally, if the party is impromptu then there is a two family limit on invites, and if it is planned, a five family limit. Not quite the way we used to manage our guest lists, but hopefully these little rules can help us get a handle on our little party throwing hobby again without me losing my mind.
And who knows, maybe someone will even compliment me on the new Captain Crunch repelling net I bought to go over the punch bowl and the incredibly easy to consume finger foods designed to allow my guests to eat with one hand while they battle life's littlest challenges with the other.
--Victoria
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