One big, loud, messy family.

Ten pounds of meatballs, two packages of spaghetti, a mammoth bowl of salad and I was ready for the big shindig at our house… three birthdays at once.

Four hours later all that is left is a pile of dirty dishes and snatches of conversation from seven grandchildren (seven years and under) and their parents.

“Can I have five meatballs?” asked one of the four year olds.
“Let’s start with two.”
“No sauce for me,” stated the seven year old.
“Just plain noodles?” I sighed. So much for my Barefooted Contessa’s prize winning recipe.
Daughter number two asks, “Does the salad have vinegar? Remember I’m allergic to vinegar.”
“No vinegar, only lemon juice.”
Son number two inquires, “Does this salad have nuts? “
No, but I’m about to be nuts, that is.

Then there’s the safety factor- too many children and too few adults.
-“What does that kid have in his mouth?”
I thrust my finger into his mouth and fished around in the slobber. Seriously, the little guy had ripped off one of the covered buttons on one of the kitchen stools and was chewing on it. Let’s see that’s five buttons down, seven buttons to go. Sigh.

-“Anyone watching the stairs?” Oh my, Peanut is about to head upstairs.

And there’s the mess.
-Smeared chocolate cake is ground into the kitchen floor,
Errant strands of spaghetti, melted ice cream and spilled milk.
So that’s why I didn’t wash the floor before the mob came.

And there’s those carried away with the festivities.
I look in the corner to see the same child standing there for a second time.
“What’s the crime?” I asked the mom.
“I caught her with a handful of spaghetti hanging out of her mouth like a werewolf foaming at the gills.

From another corner of the room a blood curdling scream shoots through the crowd. I grabbed my phone. Oldest brother has been traumatized. Older brother reports his younger brother pinched him “…very, very, very hard.”
I tell the 911 operator we really don’t need an ambulance after all.

The evening entertainment was my new exercise equipment, a Simply Fit board. I never imagined how a simple piece of molded plastic could turn into a rocking chair or a merry-go-round or surfboard. Oh the possibilities, oh the thrills, oh the accidents.

Hugging the little ones goodbye, one of the four-year old twins whispered, “I didn’t get my extra meatballs.” I told him I was sorry. He told me it didn’t matter, he was full, and he grinned contently.

We closed the door after saying good night and husband and I collapsed amidst a pile of miscellaneous puzzle pieces, picture books and toy trucks with missing wheels. I can’t think of any better way of celebrating becoming one year older. One big, loud, messy family. How glorious.