When we were looking at buying houses, we prayed for guidance.  When God blessed us with this wonderful home, we promised to use it to His glory and open our doors to others. . . .but did that include teenagers??  For Super Bowl Sunday, we had 47 teenagers and 9 adults in our house (I’ll save you the calculation. . . that’s a total of 56 people).  In church that morning, one of the girls asked me if I was excited about having them all over.  Not exactly.  “Anxious” was the word of the day. 

They started showing up around 4:30 (since when did teenagers become punctual?).  There is a standard protocol for youth group parties – boys bring chips and drinks, girls bring baked goods.  So for the next 30 minutes, teenagers and food poured through our front door.  The eating commenced immediately and so began my eternal saga of picking food off the floor.  (My mantra for the night was “I’m too uptight for this.”  Kylie kept saying, “I know.”)  At one point, there was a minor struggle over a ponytail holder (don’t ask) and a poor, unfortunate cookie with icing was caught in the crossfire.  (Ummm. . . no, I did not clean that up.  The perpetrator was assigned community service for the crime.)

The night progressed rather smoothly, with only an occasional exciting moment like me getting chased around the house with finger that had been up a guy’s nose (to defend my honor, Johnathan held him while I carried out the just sentence of a “wet willy”).  But then, as if from nowhere, came the words that still ring in my ears, “Little Johnny is puking downstairs” (the name has been changed to protect the innocent).  Poor kid.  Poor bathroom.  To this day, we are still confused as to how he completely missed the toilet (to those that have never been to our house, the half bath downstairs is just big enough for the sink and the toilet).  He was still sitting in there on the floor, but the light was off.  I stuck my head in to see if he was okay and realized the carnage that once was our half bathroom.  I also realized that there was no way on God’s green earth that I could clean that up.  So Kylie, beautiful Kylie, wonderful Kylie, best daughter in the world Kylie, jumped right in and helped him (actually, I think she did more than he did).  Within about 15 minutes, the puke was gone. . . even the smell (note to self: Clorox Disinfecting Wipes, lemon scent. . . buy stock).  And the party rocked on.  Once the game was over, Andy gave instructions and clean up began.  They picked up all the trash, and then they all just disappeared.  It was actually very strange how quickly they were all gone.  But as much as I love them, I wasn’t complaining.

Once the house was empty, I realized that my darling husband had cleaned up the kitchen and the dining room.  He even did a quick sweep of the floors.  God has richly blessed me with a wonderful family that not only loves me in spite of my OCD, but also helps relieve the stress by taking care of those things that might make me flip out…but then again, they could just be really selfish and just don’t want to hear me complain…I’ll go with the first scenario (hey, this is MY neurotic condition, I get to choose).

So the tally on the night was a couple of tiny spots of chocolate on the carpet in the bonus room and our bedroom, smashed brownie at the bottom of the stairs, chocolate on the wall outside of Kylie’s room and a bathroom in need of a paint job.  And I’m still finding heart-shaped sprinkles, but I figure Cole will eventually get all of them (we’ve changed his name to “Hoover”).  Now for the big question, will I agree to it again next year?  Yes, I believe I will.  However. . . puking, brownies and anything with sprinkles are outlawed.