I’m an introvert.
I didn’t grow up having parties. My parents had few friends. They are both introverts too.
My husband is an extrovert. Just ask him and he’ll tell you again and again and again. He never gets “peopled out.” See what I mean?
You introverts know exactly to what I refer. The last thing I want to do after work is go somewhere else. The thought of seeing one more person makes me feel as if my ears are faded and frayed and flapping in the wind like an American flag that needs to be retired and replaced after a few years on the pole. It’s terrible, but normal, evidently. If you are thinking, wait, I have a spouse/girlfriend/boyfriend/child like this and he/she is weird – read this and you’ll understand.
We moved from a small single-mom-with-two-small-girls house to a six-people-blended-family-oh-my-gosh-we-need-a-larger-home-because-half-of-this-family-is-now-large-and-male house this past August. For example, my husband would frequently bounce like a pinball as he walked down the hallway – it was that narrow.
After the open house we hosted about three weeks after moving in which said extrovert husband invited 120 people and I invited 2 (and I this think they all came), I swore – literally and figuratively (at the spouse) – no more than 6 people at any one gathering in the future. You hear me? No more than one family at a time you extroverted freak ball! Since the largest family we know has 6 people I figured we were good. We were chill. Understood. Kosher.
Then I broke the rule. B R O K E it.
See, there’s this thing called a Rachlette (pronounced Rock-LET). It’s Swiss or German or something euro-fancy which, frankly, we could all use a little bit more of in our upper-Midwest lives. You (well, Mom, that is) prepares a few different meats and veggies and then buys some yummy melty cheese and, voila, dinner euro-style.
Here’s the beauty of the Rachlette — everyone makes their own combinations. All children are occupied. For, like, an hour. It’s like Hu Hot meets Old Swiss Country Buffet. Brilliant.
I found out that another couple at our church were fondue and Rachlette experts, so we made a date for dinner on New Year’s Eve. Our conversation went something like this:
“Should we invite the kids or is it just adults?”
<pause for serious non-kid consideration, then reality>
“Ugh, better invite the kids too.”
Then we invited another family and decided the kids would have fun too. Another family turned us down and Grammy pulled a muscle, but no biggie. So, we ended up with three Rachlette machines and fourteen people.
Clearly this violates my one family at a time rule.
The non-Rachlette expert Mom asked about the type of cheese to bring for her family. “Parmesan?”
Um, no. More melty.
<insert her furrowed brow here> “I don’t understand, “she said.
And then she did.