We had my in-laws to dinner tonight, which is something we don’t do nearly enough, partly because we usually go to their house for Sunday dinner and partly because dinner at my house always seems to involve some sort of almost unbelievable chaos.
Take tonight, for example.
We planned a simple dinner, something we are fairly confident serving (flank steak, roasted vegetables, sourdough bread). I made an antipasto platter and a cheese plate with fruit.
Look how prepared we were! Oh I wish.
You can’t buy alcohol in Oklahoma on a bank holiday, because you might get drunk and, uh, rob a closed bank? I have no idea but we completely forgot to deal with this on Saturday because we were too busy taking turns napping on the playroom floor playing with the kids. So at 3:00 this afternoon, Wade called his parents and said, “We have no beer or wine! If you want a drink with dinner, bring some. Please.” Best hosts ever.
My father-in-law showed up with a cooler. See why I love this family?
We spent the first half hour sitting in the kitchen drinking wine and noshing on the various cheese offerings while the kids played happily upstairs. So far, so good.
We were cooking everything on the grill, which meant that my part involved getting it all cut up and seasoned and marinated and ready to roll and then handing it all to Wade for the actual cooking (my mom: How do you cook the vegetables? me: I wrap them in foil and hand them to Wade …). Tonight I gave him so many things that our wee little grill was jam packed, which made it harder to get everything cooked.
Whoops.
The kids’ chicken came in first, and since they weren’t going to eat it anyway, I fixed their plates (chicken and veggies and bread) and they sat down at the table with my in-laws to complain about their dinner eat. Charlie’s nose was running, so I grabbed a tissue. He said, “Mimi, watch me blow my nose!” And then he blew so hard that his nose started to bleed.
We stayed at the table, trying to staunch the blood, until my mother-in-law pointed out that he was bleeding on the piece of bread that he was trying to eat while I was trying to stop his bloody nose. Then we excused ourselves because really that didn’t seem like the kind of good manners I’m always encouraging the kids to use.
While we were sitting in the kitchen, having a nice chat about the bloody nose (Charlie: Eeew gross! me: You said it, son.) Henry came charging in. “I have to use the bathroom!” he announced. Wade was going in and out muttering about the steak not being cooked and the grill being small and Wade’s parent’s were sitting all alone in the dining room sneaking bites of the vegetables because they were starving to death.
Charlie’s nose was still bleeding — in fact, a gigantic clot of bloody snot has just come loose in my hand (Charlie: GROSS!!! me: Oh my GOD) — when Henry calls from the bathroom, “Hey I have some diarrhea! Can I get some help?”
It is possible that I took the Lord’s name in vain at that point. But really I don’t think Jesus himself would have blamed me in that moment.
Eventually the steak was cooked and the various bodily fluids were, uh, dealt with, and we all returned to the table. I brought the wine to the table with me, but in the chaos I had lost my glass. My father-in-law looked at me and said, “Are you just going to drink from the bottle?”
“YES,” I said, “I have earned it.”
It is also possible that I ate the last piece of chocolate nut pie while I was cleaning up the kitchen. Let me remind you that I EARNED IT.
Still want to come to my house for dinner?