Every Party Has a Pooper!

We rarely get invited to parties outside of family functions. Let me rephrase. We rarely get invited back to parties or functions. For years I've assumed that our invites have been lost in the mail. A bucket full of beautiful invites to amazing parties sitting in the post office as a uniformed postal worker throws in yet another envelope while thinking, "These people must be fabulous. If only the address had been legible!"

Truth be told, we are fabulous. We are also loud and, even when on our best behavior, there is a swirling air of disaster and dirt following us as we move, tornado like, through your freshly vacuumed, party-ready home.

The children give it their best shot, but, they will likely destroy your festivus while I hover romantically near the French Onion dip.  I don't get out much and I came wearing maternity pants.  If you need me, I'll be sitting next to your food table in the folding beach chair I brought from home. Why yes, that is a cup holder. How kind of you to notice; I'd love a drink.

The nature of the event does not matter, nor do our unanswered pleas for their best behavior. How can I put this delicately? Shit is going to go south. Quickly. Would we love to see you perform with your choir? Yes, we would love to. Would you love to have your choir's performance interrupted by some, surprisingly well placed, organ pedal pressing by our two year old? Hello?

Hello?

Have I walked out of a party with only 3 of my children? Possibly, but, it was the eldest so I'm sure, with a stool, she could have foraged for snacks and eventually found a phone. The look on my face said, "I forgot one of my children again!" and the look on the host's face said, "Lose my number."

Have we left another party without our 2 year old? Maybe, but, it was dark and confusing and she was singing back-up karaoke. If we had disturbed her performance, that would have been worse. An artist should never be pulled away from her work. Besides, we were only halfway down the street so, this is a party foul that I avoid on a technicality.

Admittedly, we are a formidable crew of unrelenting noise, tears, squeals of delight and, we can clear a well stocked kitchen faster than a team of locusts. Still, we are a package deal; like Vikings or a gang fueled prison riot, it's all of us or nothing.

So, be prepared, we are the Field of Dreams family. If you invite us, we will come, but, may I suggest hiding the port cheese ball and the expensive liquor. At the very least, closet the breakables. If you promise to ignore my nervous, awkward conversation and the inevitable lipstick on my teeth, I can almost certainly possibly promise not to leave one of my children as collateral for our invitation to your next soiree.

"Dearest, did you hide my fishing hooks, polo gear and the china?"