I was at a barbecue party the other evening and something amazing happened: I completely enjoyed myself! The entire time!
Usually, I am afflicted by two pests that are the bane of every family barbecue… only one of which you are allowed to swat. I am speaking, of course, of my kids… and mosquitoes.
They both have a lot in common: zooming around, inflicting their needs for various things on others… their needs for food, entertainment, or blood with which to produce offspring.
I used to spend these events completely absorbed in following my two boys around, and keeping them from harming themselves or others.
When they were very little, my entire day would consist of putting on and taking off a succession of clothes, sunscreens, and ointments. On the little ones, as well. When we all ran out of clean clothes, it was time to go home.
When my boys got a little bigger, so did the stakes. They would insist on such high-value activities as running out of the yard and into patches of poison ivy; throwing Frisbees onto our host or hostess’ roof; chasing someone’s long-suffering dog; dropping ice cubes into bowls of cole slaw and chips, and any unattended beer mugs; eating all the desserts; playing video games on their father’s phone until the batteries died; and breaking branches off the ornamental bushes because “We need the sticks for roasting s’mores!”
“But honey, rhododendrons are poisonous, and anyway, we already have sticks in the car.”
And every single minute when they weren’t making me tear my hair out, they were whining, “Mommy, I’m bored!”
I would go home worn to a frazzle, unable to finish a single sentence with anybody I had come to talk with. Old jobs lost; new jobs started; engagements; pregnancies; impending divorces – I’d return home as ignorant about everybody else’s news as when I arrived. Is there a new wing on their house? I never noticed…but then, I probably wouldn’t notice the Great Smoky Mountains, either, unless they were pinned to my children.
You know what I did notice? Mosquitoes. Most years, when my husband and kids and I went to one of these things, there always came a point in the proceedings when I began to swat myself absent-mindedly. This is the point at which I have become the mosquito bait. It is already too late to save myself. The best I can do is cower indoors for the rest of the night, hoping my children will consent to do the same.
Sometimes I think the only reason people invite me to these things is they know that nobody else in a five-mile radius will get bitten as long as I am sitting there. You know, like how nobody eats the rice pudding when there’s still chocolate mousse cake at the buffet? Well, I don’t want to brag, but …I’m the chocolate mousse cake. “Yes, in the mosquito world,” my husband points out. “Then again, they like to breed in stagnant water, so don’t get a swelled head.”
But this year was different. For one thing, my boys are a little older, and had gotten themselves invited to barbecues of their own; and as for the mosquitoes, someone had given me one of those clip-on mosquito repellers.
“That can’t possibly work,” I said. And that was the last time I so much as thought about mosquitoes… until it was time to go home.
“Hunh. I guess there weren’t any mosquitoes, this year,” I remarked to my husband.
“Are you kidding? They were the worst ever!” And sure enough, my beloved was going crazy, scratching bites in five places at once….just like I used to do.
So I didn’t tell him what a terrific time I had had. I saved that up for this report.
It turns out, you can have a really good time at a barbecue, as long as your kids – and the bugs – are all invited to someone else’s. I might even try again…next year. In the meantime, I’m laying in a year’s supply of those gizmos. And making sure the kids have a lot of playdates!
Judy Epstein is delighted to have become a regular columnist for the Blank Slate Media papers. She lives on the North Shore of Long Island, with her husband, two sons, and the world’s fattest, happiest mosquitoes. She looks forward to sharing her adventures – and rare successes – with all of you.
