The Hostess With The Mostess

Every year at Christmas, my siblings and I traipse over to my parents on Christmas Eve. From there, food is eaten, presents are opened, and merry is made. Since I have the week of Christmas off this year, I offered to host the party.

Immediately after the words left my mouth I thought, "What the hell was I thinking?" Have I seen my house? The one in a perpetual state of home repairs? The one that's small and cramped? The one with four kids? I think if the baby would just start sleeping through the night, I'd get some of those lost brain cells back that are obviously affecting my decision making abilities.

Once the panic attack subsided, I considered that the amount of organization and list making required for me to pull this off is probably my Christmas gift from my parents. Seriously, I love lists that much. Sometimes when I make a TO-DO list and I've already done something, I'll add it just for the satisfaction of crossing something off. Yeah, I see all those eye rolls from you organizationally challenged people. I say you're jealous of my mad list making skills. Don't be a hater. Or if you're going to be a hater, at least make a list of people who deserve it.

There might be a slight problem with time, however, as I have not been able to find a device that will effectively lengthen my day, nor one that will just freeze time or clone myself. (Basically, all the superhero movies ever made are one big, fat LIE!) Since denial is a close friend, I choose to not acknowledge that this could be an issue. After all, how many days are there until Christmas Eve? What? Thirty eight? Holy crap, I'm in trouble. Especially since I haven't made it out of the menu planning stage. And the dust bunnies have staged a coup that I have to overthrow.

Thank God for slave labor, I mean, uh, children. Yes, that's right. Three free "apprentices" that I can put to work to ensure that the evil Dust Bunny Overlord isn't successful in his attempts to dominate my household and that I actually remember to preheat the oven so that I can cook whatever delicious meal might make it through my intense list making sessions. Three unpaid "helpers" to set the table, put together veggie platters, and chase down the baby to take the current object of his fascination out of his mouth (Because let's face it, it's always in the baby's mouth and it's always something they are not supposed to have.) and keep us from having a trip to the ER to remove a pencil eraser that magically appeared on the floor even though "no one" dropped it.

This holiday season will be crazy with a dash of fun and a touch of love. (Only a touch because there's no love in party planning dammit! Kidding. I think. I'll get back to you on whether or not that's true next month.) And if I survive the insanity that the next few weeks will be, I think someone should throw me a party. Just as long as I don't have to do any of the planning, preparation, or decorating.

Or panic and run around like a mad woman?