Is it safe? Are the holidays gone yet? Can I come out?

Sheesh, that was hard.

I thought it would grand fun to host the entire family celebration at my little house for Christmas, as well as keep some family for a couple of weeks up until Christmas. It was one party after another and finally ended in tears (my husband cried, anyway).

Party #1 The limo party. I tried selling tickets via email/online invitations. It worked exceptionally well since everyone paid online beofre the deadline. Only problem came when we were faced with selling two tickets that were reserved but didn't pan out. So we invtided a new friend and she said that she had a friend, etc. We thought we had it made.

It turns out that a limo that seats 12-14, really only seats 10 unless you count a tiny little back seat that you have to be teleported into. So, my hubby and I took the little seat and dubbed it "the kitchen" from which we passed out hors d'oevres and drinks. All went well until "friend" and "friend of friend" started groping and licking in the seat in front of us. PUKE! Everyone else had the luxury of not looking at them, but we had a front row seat, er, back row seat.

On the last leg of the journey, we made Gropey and Dopey sit in "the kitchen" where they could clean up whatever they liked, er, licked.

Memo for next time, barf-ola!

Party #2 Christmas Eve. Everyone crowded into the house who wanted to spend the night. Procrastinators went shopping at Walgreens at midnight. That's right! I went along to see how the other half live.

Party # 3 Christmas morning Stockings open with the kids; that is after one kid got reprimanded and sent back to bed by a zealous grown-up at 7:00 am. I served 6 different varieties of quiche.

Then the rest of the relatives arrived and presents started in earnest. Carnage! I can't complain; my husband got me a gorgeous teacup and the thoughtfulness of it made me cry. *sniffles*

Then the 3 hours of Excite Truck (Wii game) that helped some ignore the old people. And finally the bubble bursting period where I reminded people that even though they brough raw ingredients, it was supposed to be a potluck and they had better start cooking their own stuff.

Elfid, where's your wisk? "Hey Elfid, you don't have a roasting pan, you know that? How are you going to make a prime rib roast with no pan?" "Hey Elfid, your kitchen is kind of messy, could you please clean up these dishes?"

So we served an overly amazing dinner, underwhelmingly cold. (Prime rib roast, cranberries, mashed potatoes, roasted savory sweet potatoes, green salad, hot rolls, apple punch, followed by pumpkin cheesecake and coffee.) Next year, I will just cook the whole thing myself and make it much easier on everyone.

Party #whatever The annual sushi party fell on my husband's birthday. He drank a lot of saki, wine and scotch and didn't really show too much damage. He got a paper shredder for his present and did end up hugging it. But I feel that he would have done that totally sober anyway.

Party #45 Open mic night with my siblings. For this year's gift exchange, we each drew a name and wrote stories about that sibling. At the party, we had to read our stories outloud to each other and laugh and discuss and eat a lot of cheese. Why does cheese eating always accompany these sorts of events?

Party# right. New Year's Eve, my husband sneaked out to go discuss philosophy stuff at the neighbor's house until 2 am. I stayed home with his parents, our new guests, and watched movies.

So all in all, my husband had a nervous breakdown, wilted like a little flower and made me promise never to flood the earth again with so much celebrating and merry making. It is a death for me. But alas, you are stuck to the person you marry, with no one to blame but yourself for falling in love.

My next huge event is the preschool Valentine's Day party at my son's school. I hope I don't blow it.

I went and did a stupid thing. I invited the world to come over for dinner this summer... and the world's girlfriend. So now, instead of intimate little soiree's, I will be slinging hash and slopping gruel for the masses.

So, instead of charging into the fray, I am charging off to Ireland for the month of May. I'll send green beer, but really just hide from my responsibility.

As three smartly dressed women stepped onto the elevator, D pulled his little brother back in. "Wait, E, that's not our door."
"You like Kool-Aid, don't you? You look like you've been drinking Kool-Aid," said a faux blonde in gray tweed.
"You're a terrific big brother," another chimed.
"Yes, he's lucky to have you for a big brother, isn't he?" the first woman added with an ingratiating tone.
"Well," my seven year old said, "I think I'm just lucky to have him."
"Aaaaw!" All three women chorused at the same time. "Isn't he sweet?" "How cute." "I'm just lucky..."

They clicked away in their high heeled boots across the marble floor.
"Mom, now that was the least fun time of my life," he said with a furrowed brow.
"Why is that, D?" I asked.
"They were making fun of my chapped lips by saying that I like Kool-Aid."

So, dinner is served for the year. I might attempt a last ditch autumnal effort over a campfire, since fire food is so great and so infrequent.

I enjoyed the housekeepers for the long, first visit. My greatest joy was trying to think up little dusty spots that I had never thought of before and check to see if they were clean. AND they all were! This is fun. I played with my babies, guiltily, the whole time the two women scrubbed my house on their hands and knees. So I like it.

Now the onset of Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas have got me rustling around.
Costumes: finished early, army guy, Boss Hog and Black Bart
Thanksgiving menu: planned and delegated
Christmas: budgeted, little gifts purchased, big gifts list finished, meal still undetermined

So it's nothing but work work work here in Betty Crocker'sville. I hope to have Christmas presents wrapped and forgotten before November is through. I'm planning on finding a caterer for Christmas dinner, since I'm the only one who likes to cook, and I don't like it THAT much. I'd like the only weight I gain to be from eating, not from stress this year.

My young husband is starting a second job. He will no longer be the renaissance man that he has been thus far, changing diapers, washing laundry and cooking dinner with me. So, I must now face being an entire-house-wife for the first time. I am not looking forward to it. I am taking reading list suggestions.

Hail the conquerors. Long live Vitables.

So, the pistou and the beef bourguignonne were the most expensive and delicious dishes so far this season. But the evening was a little more flat than I would have like. Although, the impromptu bellydance class on the front lawn was a big help, (thank you, K).

I worked too hard. Guests kept arriving at all times, so I had to keep getting up and helping them get food. My husband/cohost was sick from a shot in the arm, so I said I would cover for him in the childcare division. Baby spoons, explaining why kids wouldn't like wine, picking up dropped food and chucking it into the yard rather than going inside the house to throw it away, etc.

Notes for next time, REALLY feed the kids in advance. REALLY get a kids video from the library. Don't help late comers figure out the soup. Bring all the wine out to the porch at the beginning. And don't actually cook for two days straight.

That being said, it was great to close out the season with good friends and good food.

So, we will not say good-bye; let us say "adieu."

Pistou
So this recipe has a lot of threes in it.
3 onions, halved and slivered
3 carrots, quartered and sliced thinly
Saute for 3 minutes in olive oil

3 zukes or yellow squash, halved and sliced thick
3 potatoes, scrubbed, cubed
3 fistfulls of green beans, cut one inch
3 14 oz cans of cannellini beans with broth
Dump all into 15 cups of soup stock

Bring to boil, reduce heat, simmer 15 minutes.

Salt and pepper.

Add a heap of pesto (oh yes, oh yes), and enjoy with bread and butter.



So, I made this soup today, so that I would have less work tomorrow. I have invited 15 people with about 11 rsvps yes. I have about 3 known bottles of wine coming and 3 potential loaves of crusty bread coming. So, I will be running out the market for one or the other at the last minute. The other experiment will be to see if folks like southern France cuisine, and if not, why not. (And also, more leftovers for me!)

So, off to bellydancing. Shake it like you rented it.

So hard to find good help these days, right? Thursday, I embark into the land of the hiring the help that I shouldn't need to run my house. I am in disbelief that for ANY amount of money someone should want to clean this house, since I obviously don't. I won't believe it until I see it; until I see the tub brilliantly scrubbed at the same time as the kitchen immaculate, at the same time as the house vacuumed, AT THE SAME TIME AS the laundry done and put away. I feel a twinge of guilt that I am supposed to feel, afterall, my career is my home. But of all the jobs, cook, maid, governess, nanny, manager and chauffeur, scrubbing pots and baseboards is the one I like the least. So, bring in the ladies of the day and let me play with my babies. One could get used to having other people doing one's work. The secret to my success? Move into a tiny, crappy little half of a house and live like a king. But you don't have to take my word for it.