The Aftermath

We had a fun party at our house this past weekend. I love having my family and friends over for dinner, drinks, conversation and laughter. Everyone usually ends up congregating in my kitchen - which seems to be some sort of family tradition or genetic trait possessed by everyone I know (or at least every one who comes to my parties). Or perhaps there is some sort of magnetic pull or force field in my kitchen which draws guests in?

Having a party is a lot of work. Even for one who is not obsessive/compulsive about housework, there is a certain amount of housecleaning that must be done before guests arrive. Fortunately, this blog is not about the pre-party cleaning rituals, so I won't bore you with that.

Then there is the food and drink. As effortless as every hostess tries to make it all look - there is a bit of planning effort that goes into it. Followed by shopping and cooking and arranging platters and trying to keep everything warm (or cold) until the guests arrive and are ready to eat.

But the guests do arrive (most bearing additional food and drink) and the preparation was all worth it. The alcohol and conversation begin flowing, good food is heaped upon plates, strangers meet and usually make some sort of connection (oh my God, my daughter was on your son's t-ball team 23 years ago). The laughter grows louder as the evening grows later and the standing room capacity in my kitchen is tested.

A good time is had by all - especially me! But, as is rumored, all good things must come to an end and the guests begin to leave. The first to go usually sets off a chain reaction of departures and before I know it, only my husband and I are left. "That was fun," we will say to each other and then go face the party aftermath. Plates, wine glasses, beer cans and all of the leftover food still laid out buffet-style are lying in wait. Normally we work together discussing the various conversations and happenings of the evening while we make some order out of the mess. But not this time; this time I was exhausted (and maybe a little "over-served"). I had put in a 19-hour work/travel day on Friday and by the time the party was over on Saturday it was all I could do to make it to my bed before falling asleep.

When I awoke Sunday morning it was with a sense of dread - knowing the mess that awaited me. Remember the children's tale about the cobbler who would return to his workshop every morning to find his work had been done for him during the night? I now know exactly how he must have felt. When I entered my kitchen on Sunday morning the only evidence of a party were the rinsed out wine bottles ready for the recycling center. Did elves or fairies or sprites do my work while I slept like they did for the cobbler in the children's book? No, one of the guests at my party did it. One of the guests who stayed late, cleaned everything and then saw herself out. That wonderful guest was my daughter!

Someone sure did a good job of raising that child!