The New York City bus was hours late last night: our final travelers didn't arrive till close to 11 p.m. Thus, I am very, very sleepy this morning. But finally the entire crew is in the same town . . . though not under the same roof, as weeks ago the Chicagoites decided to rent an Airbnb room for a couple of nights, just to ease the crowd pressure on the little house. Turns out I was able to effectively solve the bed situation, but they possibly didn't believe in magic and kept to their original plan. The hilarious outcome is that the Chicago son and the New York City partner have never actually met each other, and now they are both pretending that the other is an invisible friend. One pair arrives in a house where the other pair mysteriously isn't. . . . 

That farce will eventually get disrupted today. In the meantime, the cat remains happily confused by the Cox-and-Box sleepovers, and I am sitting in my couch corner wondering if I'll be able to snag a nap at 9 a.m. Yesterday I made vanilla ice cream and got the hateful chestnut-roasting-and-peeling task out of the way.  Today will be a more focused kitchen workday--apple pie, cranberry sauce, dry-brining the turkey, maybe stuffing or squash prep--as the kids and their friends pour in and out of the house. It will be my favorite chaos. Given that neither boy grew up in Portland, the casual friend visitations feel particularly special . . . central Maine coming home to us.

You can see why this party week so excites me, on so many levels. It's a real fete--a gala, even. A glorious messy nostalgic reunion, with the added delight of adorable partners. Plus, my sweetheart's joy in the company of his children. And the cat's giddy glad-handing. And me in a dirty apron, inexorably concocting a feast.