Under the stars, beneath the moon
Will be a Christmas party you won’t forget soon.
A party for all so full of cheer
A room full of people we all hold dear.
So join us for this Christmas celebration
Forget all your sorrows, worries, frustration…
We’ll deck the halls and you deck the children.
Bring your little ones in their Christmas best.
Moms, please wear something red for a group photograph.
Today was the annual Classy Moms Christmas party – where a group of frazzled mothers gather to gorge on sugar, champagne and gossip while our crazy offspring run wild – all in the name of making holiday memories.
Yesterday, we stopped at the grocery store to pickup goodies for my baking endeavors. One of the preparations for today’s shindig was the creation of three dozen HOMEMADE cookies/baked goods for the cookie exchange. (Hey, they’re gambling with their own health with that requirement.)
The Salvation Army bell-ringers surrounded us with their ringing bells as we departed the store, laden with powdered sugar, chocolate chips and brownie mix, and me chanting, “Don’t blow up the baked goods. Don’t blow up the baked goods.”
“Man, that would drive me nuts if I had to listen to that all day,” I observed. “That’s because you have no soul,” Jon replied without missing a beat. Noted. It was going to be that kind of day.
But come on, I only cheated a little bit. You know I made the brownies from a box – would you expect anything less? You’ve got to play the odds, people. But I mixed the batter (and licked the bowl) all by myself. Then I used an honest-to-goodness electric mixer to stir powdered sugar and peanut butter together for the filling. And I personally microwaved the chocolate chips that I spread over the top of the ooey-gooey goodies.
And I didn’t burn, blow up or set fire to any part of the concoction! Victory! No fear of anyone eating one of the treats, gagging and spitting out, “Who brought this mess?” Oh no, that fear was still alive and well. Thank goodness my ego isn’t tied up in cooking. (It’s more so in the not-blowing-up-my-house genre, really.)
This morning I decked myself out in a cable collar red sweater and dolled the boys up in their Christmas best sweaters and corduroys. And we headed out – red fuzz from my new photo-ready sweater leaving a train of breadcrumbs for us to find our way home again.
The kids had a blast. Destroy immediately sidled up to one of his little girlfriends, who was busy making him pancakes at the play kitchen. Imagine his delight when he was handed a real one to chow down on.
Shortly thereafter several of the boys vanished. When I went in search of the undoubted mischief afoot, I found Destroy and his friend standing with two of the older boys by the front door. All had their arms crossed and their backs to the wall. It wasn’t hard to figure out who the ringleaders were… This is not a good idea, I thought. Sure enough – when I turned back, Destroy was dismantling a Thomas the Train set while the older two laughed.
“That’s MY choo-choo,” announced a 3-year-old Lincoln. He then sauntered back toward the kitchen, leaving the “Time Out Chair” in his wake. Destroy continued the destruction until physically removed back to the kitchen, where he proceeded to steal the other kids pancakes for himself. That kid can Pack. It. Down.
We decided to try and get a group photo. I already knew there was no way to top last year’s photo of screaming unhappy infants. Hyperactive toddlers were certainly worth a try though.
When we prepared to close out the morning with a photo of the crimson-clad mamas (which, by the way, was a total disaster so no pictures for you), all the little girls in the group were clamoring to be around us. Then we heard a crash. Seven little boys were in the playroom – playing HARD. There was clearly too much testosterone for the budding divas in dresses surrounding us. And meltdowns were imminent.
It was time to collect our cookies and head home for naptime. “What are you eating Destroy?” I asked at the same moment I caught a glimpse of chocolate chips smearing across his lips. “Where did you get that?”
He grinned coyly. “He helped himself to that,” a fellow mama informed me.
Today’s haul included: peanut butter fudge truffles, salted caramel chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cup cookies, toffee peanut brownies and made-from-scratch madeleines. Success!
I’m happy to share in the bounty. And if you die, it’s not my fault. No one else has reported getting sick…yet. Merry Christmas! May dreams be filled with visions of sugarplums dancing in your head.