A rather big party, to be exact. My husband thought I had lost my mind. My kids thought I had lost my mind. But I was a woman on a mission with plans that could not be thwarted.
After a come to Jesus meeting with my precious family about the whole Christmas party thing, my people did the only thing they could do: They made popcorn and pulled up a seat to watch their mama actually lose her mind.
I ordered invitations. I mailed the invitations. I cleaned the house. I cooked the food. I made ten pounds of fudge, one hundred molasses spiced cookies, one hundred chocolate shortbread cookies, caramel corn, marinated olives, fruit trays, veggie trays, and ten pounds of little smoked sausages swimming in bbq sauce. I even ordered a spiral sliced ham and made a couple hundred rolls. I mixed up apple cider and made a hot chocolate bar.
On the day of the party, I lit the candles and made the tablescapes and at a few minutes before 7, the first guests arrived. For the next three hours, our home was filled with people. The food was eaten. Drinks were spilled. Children cried. Grownups laughed. One little boy ate all the cherry tomatoes while standing over the tray of vegetables.
After the last guests pulled out of the drive and the last candle had pooled into a smear of wax, my dear man turned to me and asked one question.
So, how do you think it went?
I shrugged before answering.
Something was missing. I just can’t put my finger on what that something is right now.
It took me three months of thinking about that Christmas party before the answer came to me.
I had invited all the wrong people.
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