CooCoo Since Halloween is C��s birthday, we joined in the celebration with a few pumpkins and dressing our baby in a costume for trick or treat. W. was most excellent trick or treat-er collecting a very large bag full or candy with compliments to his monkey costume. I wanted to do something special for C and decided to host a formal dinner/birthday party on Saturday for 8 adults and informal munches for 6 kids ranging from 3 months to 9 years old. My golly was I so wrong. Just what made me think it would be easy to host a sit-down meal with babies to look after is beyond me. It was a real HOOT to entertain with a baby permanently attached to your leg. At one point I remember realizing I literally didn��t know where I was or what I was doing. When the table was finally set, I thought for sure I had lost my mind. ��CookOO�� Children were slyly tearing the house down. They needed the videos, the X-box, the computer, upstairs and down and they never closed the toilet seat enabling the wee ones to run off and splash their tiny hands in that infested disgusting gross fowl water. I was mortified with the site of W. with ��freshly�� wet hands. I almost died to find the bathroom door open for the 10th time and seeing freshly laid green gigantic cable floating in the toilet. That isn��t something I��d want to read either but it was just beyond words and I had to put down exactly what I saw. Adults stood around trying to have long conversations while I calculated how long to cook French beans and potatoes to have them come out with C��s fillet mignon. (Good news, I now realize we need two ovens in the kitchen.) C was scrambling burning his hands twice in a row while his buddy laughed his buns off. What was I thinking? A perfect dinner night with relaxed self drinking chilled champagne in a classy outfit that��s what. Instead, I was scrambling with a baby getting the table cloth, dishes, wine and champagne glasses ����. God blessed, I couldn��t have been further away from the truth. By 6pm, I had turned into a hobo. I looked as if I had run a marathon. My sparkly hair accessory had switched positions to where the sun don��t shine. My black sweater transformed into a pink T-shirt and I was dying of thirst. After the main course, my no flour truffle chocolate cake had any audience at the table as I painfully forced everyone to gather around to sing the Happy Birthday for my husband. He didn��t seem to have a problem with this most ridiculous degree of scrambling ever. With the sound of ��Cake!�� the kids ran to the table like small animals and so began the massacre of white dining chairs. By the time guests left it was 8.25pm. It was pathetic as I reminiscence the long nights out in town, looking rosy from slowly drinking one too many cocktails in a girly cocktail dress and lovely shoes. I am still not going to give up, I WILL find a way to have a nice dinner party again. Happy Birthday C.!

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