Stick a pin in me...I'm done (throwing parties)

I DON'T do parties. I enjoy attending the odd party or two but hosting a get-together gives me hives. My idea of successful party planning encompasses rubbing balloons against my head and sticking them to the wall. Festive! But Pinterest has taken my already pre-existing social anxieties and multiplied them by twelve. Who has time to individually paint a dozen paper towel tubes red, white and blue to then hot glue them together into a flag shape? Who even thinks to collect paper towel tubes for that purpose? I could also wrestle Bounty paper towels into toilet tissue tube napkin-rings (also painstakingly painted in holiday-themed colors) to resemble firecrackers by fringing the ends and braiding red, white and blue beads on the frays. Exactly what a party guest wants rubbed over his or her face while attempting to scrub off that wayward marshmallow from an out-of-control s'more incident. I have enough trouble properly following the directions of the Jell-o Jiggler recipe.

Sydney was ALL ABOUT the planning. "Dad...can I paint stars onto the lawn," she asked, already enthusiastically shaking a can of white spray paint. He determined that this would make our yard look trashy. We were currently using a wood pallet for a serving table. And not a Pinterest pallet either. Our hauling trailer was being used as a launch pad for what looked like a NASA-budgeted excursion to the moon. Giant bowling pins were set up as entertainment for our younger guests. They would later be used as blunt swords and baseball bats. Inexplicably, a kayak appeared and was used as a non-mechanical ride similar to the quarter pony you'd find outside the grocery store. But "no" to painted grass stars. Too trashy.

Undeterred, Sydney returned to her research and was soon rummaging for mason jars. She unearthed the Minute Rice (of which she has never actually eaten...in her life) and was in the process of finding food coloring when her father re-directed her with the important job of making clarifying signs for our guests. Sydney, unfortunately, has inherited my inability to make a simple sign. No Sharpie marker for us. Hours of searching for just the right clip art and relevantly humorous meme result in an unforgettable sign that no one ever bothers to read anyway. Since Savannah and I were in the process of waiting for our Jigglers to transform from the slosh stage to the more-solidly wiggle stage, we picked up Syd's reins.

"This is enough rice to feed a small African village for a week," I yelled into Sydney as we measured out the necessary amount to fill the mason jars. "Do small African villages have microwaves," she wondered as she giggled at an inappropriate meme.  "Besides...remember when you had your students make topographical maps of New York State out of dried beans," she retorted, "People making 4th of July votives out of colored rice shouldn't throw black-eyed peas."

Savannah and I stirred the food coloring into the designated rice piles. "It says here that we need to lay the rice out flat to dry," Savannah read. "That's ridiculous," I scoffed. We immediately layered our red, white, and blue rice into the jars. Now for the candles. I quickly found a red tapered candle that looked as though it had once been used as a prop for "The Phantom of the Opera." It towered eight inches over the top of the mason jar. "Classy," observed Savannah. I then found advent candles that we had inadvertently stolen during The Great Mosiman Church Search of ought-16. To our credit, we had been frightened and ran away, candles still clutched in our panicked fists. "Aren't you afraid we'll be struck by lightening if we use those," Savannah asked. "They're not CURSED, Savannah," I told her, "The Lord understands that it was an accident." I did pause to wonder about the man-made lightning housed in in my husband's hauling trailer though.

Hours later, perched elegantly on the back of the 4-wheeler parked in our garage, our candles emitted a patriotic glow. EVERYONE noticed them. "Did you see our candles," we greeted each guest, leading them on an informal tour of our garage before they were allowed to eat from our wood pallet serving table. "Here, have a jiggler." Manning the hot dogs, Brad had already begun making plans for next year's soiree. "You know what would put this party over the top," he said to me in between candle-spotting tours, "...balloons."