When All Else Fails, Have a Party

To recover from the shock of being Rule-fived again, we had a party. Actually, we had been planning the party for quite a while, it just happened to be a divinely ordained distraction from other less productive mind games related to our future. We have hosted small dinner parties and family gatherings before, but this was our first mass production.

The planning began ages ago during the very party-bare month of October when every self-respecting overachiever starts formulating ways to stress themselves out. I refused to count myself among that number, so I decided to do everything in advance, laying awake 'til 3 am many a night mentally decorating the tables and designing the invitations. Such forethought gave me the leisure to completely plan and re-plan the party two or three times, including the games, the menu, and the mood music. Thankfully, I'm not as obsessed as most, bless their little hearts.

December 1st rolled around and I was free to start spending money on the party, which of course includes the hostess's outfit. So over the river and through the woods, to Kohl's and to Michaels we ran- five or six or seven times. Michaels for the decorations and Kohl's for the perfect wardrobe ensemble. My mom and I found the right one in early November and she bought it for me. It was a green sweater dress- delightfully stylish and deliciously simple.

After trying it on and hanging it in my closet for a week or two, I changed my mind. The party colors were going to be blue and white, so the winter white version of the dress would match better than the green one. Two trips to two different Kohl's later, I found the white one. The party would be complete and my dress would match the table decorations. 

Thirty seconds of modeling the dress in front of the mirror at home revealed the less then solid whiteness of the material and more of my figure and foundations than I preferred or Josh would permit.  I exchanged it for the green one.  My attention then turned to the party accessories: my shoes, jewelry, and stockings. Actually, I opted for leggings- a silver Vera Wang pair. They coordinated well with my silver-sequined ballet flats, purchased specifically for the occasion. 

The most important decorating decisions accomplished, my mind was free to focus on lesser details like food and how to serve it. The guests were each bringing an appetizer to share, so I only had to worry about the dessert. I mail-ordered peppermint sticks and coated them with chocolate and sprinkles. Coffee stirrers: Check. I made chocolate almond bark, candied oranges, and sugared almonds. Finger sweets: Check. Cookies and cheesecake were the only items left.

Thursday at 10:30 came. From Nats to Orioles. From known to unknown. By Friday I couldn't think clearly enough to remember what I walked into the pantry for. My brain was a jumble of baseball, candy canes, and glitter. One thing kept me marching, our friends the Shappis were coming to spend the weekend with us and would be arriving that evening. Josh and A.J. both played for the Diamondbacks. Since that was three teams ago, we only get to see them once or twice a year.

I couldn't think clearly enough to do anything else, so I focused on the necessary: making sure the house was in serviceable order, letting Mr. Costco make the cheesecake and the cookies, and conjuring up something for dinner. I was still scuffling around in my slippers when Grama called. 

"Steph, I just wanted to encourage you about your party," she said. "I have learned over the years that it doesn't matter what the decorations look like, or if the stove breaks and you have to make hot dogs. As long as you make your guests feel welcome and comfortable, it will be a grand success." 

Good point, Grama. Saturday's party would have to worry about itself. McKenzie and I got the errands done, the beans in the oven, and the clothes in the laundry. We even had time to go to the park after she woke up from her nap. By 6:45 Josh was home and the Shappis were 30 minutes away. It was a good day. We stayed up 'til midnight visiting. 

The next morning was laid back and relaxing. The guys went running. Katie and I visited. McKenzie played. We ate breakfast. It was great! Later that afternoon, Katie, McKenzie, and I went to the store for the last minute items. The boys stayed home printing off the evening's line-up of trivia games. When we got back, they had mopped and vacuumed, swept the back porch, and wiped down the kitchen. We were impressed. 

All of us pitched in, and by 6:45 everything looked beautiful. Thank you, Katie, A.J., and Josh! At that point, I made a quick exit. My perfect outfit was waiting. It only took a minute to put on. In a hurry to do my make-up, I dashed to the mirror for final approval. I gaped in horror. My lovely shimmery tights made my legs look like chrome sausage links, and the darling green dress gave the effect of an over-washed teddy bear: lumpy in all the wrong places. It was on the floor in two seconds flat. 

It was 6:52. Time was not on my side. I yanked out a strapless light green dress and tried that with the leggings, hoping something could be salvaged. Josh walked in. "That's interesting. Is that what you're wearing?" 

Nope. Just playing dress-up. To the floor it went. Rifling frantically through my closet I found my black Ann Taylor sheath dress. Classic. Dignified. Slimming. It would work. Some pearls, a dash of make-up, my peak-a-boo heels and I was good to go. It was only 6:57. I waltzed out to the front room, relieved that I had not had a wardrobe break down. 

Josh looked up. Our eyes met. "Looks good. Kinda dressy, don't you think?" 

Yep. Just making sure it still fit. Return to room. Fling dress on clothes-covered floor. Stare at closet in complete desperation and then hate everything in it. My favorite jeans were dirty, I didn't have any favorite shirts, and for some reason since I had McKenzie my dressy tops either shrunk or I grew, because all of them cease at an undesirably early line of latitude. 

Then, logic dawned. Wearing something was better than wearing nothing and I had about 45 seconds to find something. I pulled on some gaucho jeans I could live with, slipped into a black sweater that was a little short but not totally, and tied a sequined black scarf around my neck. I asked my sister Jill if I should wear the the silver-sequined flats or the black heels. 

"Hmmm. The heels, I think. The flats just aren't the right look with the pants," she said. I completely agreed, but I was holding on with desperation to the last threads of my original outfit. On with the heels. So much for perfect. 

It was 7:25. I was clothed. My scarf sparkled. It was going to be o.k. Then the doorbell rang. After that, the party took care of itself.  Josh was undoubtedly the spark-plug of the evening, the judge of three very competitive trivia games, and the masterful narrator of two hilarious rounds of "Mafia." All our wonderful friends and family ate, talked, and played with great gusto. Each smile, strain of laughter, and conversation dressed the evening with joy. Each person there made the party a success. It was perfect!

As I collapsed into bed early the next morning, I thanked our dear Heavenly Father for the wonderful gift of fellowship and for all our precious friends and family who helped make our Christmas party so special. I pray that each one felt loved and comfortable in our home and that they know they are always welcome, with or without an invitation. I also decided that next time, I'm not going to worry about the perfect outfit. It doesn't exist anyway.