My Cat in the Hat Moment

I threw a baby shower yesterday. It was comedy and tragedy all rolled up into one strawberry-asparagus salad.

First thing you have to know about me - my husband is the cook. Normally we divide and conquer on these things: He cooks, I clean. Even though it was my gig this time, he helped. I gave him an entire reporter's notebook page filled with a honey-doodoo list that included: "move construction materials," "make quiche" and "empty diaper pail."

Sawyer found ways to entertain himself quietly while I raced around the house like a headless chicken. He: Pulled the shoelaces out of Scott's work boots. Removed every piece of tupperware from the drawer. And made 'art' with his new green marker all over his kids table and chairs, his clean shirt for going to Mimi's house and every inch of exposed skin.

My mom came to the toddler rescue around 10:30 and Scott left 30 minutes later to go to work. At the precise instant that Scott was walking out the door, Arden blew out a diaper and covered in herself in poop up to her shoulders. I had no choice but to bathe her. I put her in a nice dress, and then draped the rest of her body in bibs and blankets hoping to make it until baby shower time without another wardrobe change.

In the days leading up to this shower, I was very relaxed. I offered to do it for a playgroup friend since she kindly offered to do the same for me a few months back. I turned her down because - call me crazy - baby showers kinda creep me out. Especially the games and passing the presents around.


On the other hand, they are a nice way to celebrate the pending arrival, and they serve a special purpose in alerting momma that an actual, living-breathing baby is arriving in a few short weeks and they better be ready. It never fails to freak a woman out.

Real live babies are always welcome at showers as they tend to help drive the whole point home:



So with the "no games" rule firmly in place, I set about organizing the party. Another mom-friend was in charge of the invitations, the cake and the balloons, so all I had to do was provide the place and the food. No problem.

I had seen this strawberry-asparagus salad at the gourmet takeout shop across from my office a few weeks ago and thought I could replicate it. Only I had no idea what went into it. After Scott went to bed, I did my best with a recipe I found online. I was very proud of myself for preparing three salads AND the iced tea the night before. I was SO ON IT.

So I thought.

With the poop catastrophe under control, I had only an hour to finish cleaning, shower, dress, and do my new short 'do, which nobody had seen yet so I wanted to make sure I had time to straighten it.

I dilly-dallied around with the lemon scented Pledge and the vacuum hose attachments for a little while until, with only 30 minutes to go, I resorted to sweeping off surfaces with my arm, scooping everthing into drawers and cramming dirty laundry into the back of closets. It was possibly the most Cat In The Hat moment of my life - the kind of thing you'd see in an 80s movie starring Matthew Broderick.

With 15 minutes to go, I danced through a cold shower (no time to let the water warm), partially dried my hair, fried it with the flat iron and opened the door like June F-ing Cleaver when the first guests arrived 2 minutes later.

I may possibly be the worst hostess ever. My co-hostess kept having to ask people if they needed refills on their drinks, and I didn't even think about having a bag for the used wrapping paper, but other than that l guess things went alright.

Scott says I should have left the quiche in the oven longer, the iced tea was possibly too strong (one girl took a sip and tried to give it away to somebody else saying she 'hadn't acquired a taste for tea') and the strawberry-aparagus salad turned out to be a pink oil bomb. (NEVER EVER use vegetable oil on a salad, Scott reprimanded me later. Always use olive oil. Vegetable oil is for frying things.)

When the whole thing was over, the mom-to-be was left staring at a large pile of gifts with the classic freaked-out look on her face. This look alone made it all worthwhile: