We are throwing a party in 31 hours and I don’t have anything prepared.  Am I panicked?  Never. 

Throwing a party is fun!

Last football season when Coach asked if we could throw a Kick-Off Party, I almost stabbed him.  At this time last year, I was 38 weeks pregnant, my feet were swollen, I couldn’t even see my own bellybutton, and he wanted me to throw a party.  Seriously?!  I had hoped to be in the hospital holding a baby, but she was not interested in coming until two days after Homecoming. 

This year is different — this year I have help.  I have a tiny little elf who assists me in my daily tasks — she helps me shop (as long as I feed her goldfish crackers), then unloads the bags, she reorganizes the kitchen, & throws things in the trash (like the charger to my video camera).  Isn’t that great?  So tomorrow will probably go down like this:  Somehow I will manage to make a grocery store run and when I return, will get straight to work making  15 pounds of Yankee Barbecue. 

While I’m browning the meat, my assistant will probably start dumping all the CDs from the cabinet so I’ll bring her closer to the kitchen and give her some toys.  She will notice the dog bowls and decide that perhaps tiny Elmo would like to go for a swim.  She’ll toss him overhand into the bowl but will not be satisfied until the water is trickling down her knees to her ankles.  While I grab a towel to clean up the mess, the browning meat will go to the back burner.  I’ll have to take my assistant upstairs to change her clothes because the hem of her dress is dripping.  I’ll suggest a nap and then she’ll suggest that I allow her to raid the pantry. 

I decide to compromise and allow my assistant to watch a short brain boosting video — how about World Animals?  Yes, that will do.  I return to cooking only to find my helper back in the kitchen pulling on my pant leg.  Up?  She wants up.  She wants to see.  She wants a wooden spoon.  She wants to stir.  Now she wants down.  She sees the Lazy Susan.  She spins it open.  She thinks a jar of minced onion is a “baaah”.  I tell her that it is not a ball.  I beg her to please stop.  Italian seasoning is also NOT a ball nor is cardamom.  I give her a spatula — she chases the dog with it.  Now the dog wants up. 

See how much easier it’s going to be this year? 

On today’s agenda — party decorations!  Pictures tomorrow!