11:22 p.m. A party is a different experience for each person attending, and the hostess is no exception to this rule. The particular party I gave a couple of days ago included several distinctively self-referential writers who just happen to publish their thoughts to a worldwide audience. If you are the curious type and you value the truth, I urge you to visit their journals and read what really happened.

You won't get much from me.

I was there -- but just barely. Oh, sure ... I was fully prepared, to a point. I'd worried about the turkey and I did some last minute winking and praying, and I was, for the very first time in my entire life, ready early.

So ready that I was able to put some rollers in my hair, put on the soundtrack to West Side Story and dance around in my bare feet to "everything's free in America" ... ok by me ...

... when suddenly there were these faces at my glass-paned French doors.

Three little children and their parents. A full two and a half hours early.

See the photo, above? Notice that the sky is light? The party was still two hours away when I took this photo. We were all up on the roof by this time, taking the grand house tour. What else can you do? Jumping off is bad form. Murder is frowned upon.

In a perfect world I should be forgiven for everything that happened in the next several hours. Many of my photos are blurry, for instance. To see the accurate versions of these snapshots, you should hop over to Viv's page, where everyone is crisp and clear.

Viv is not actually asleep in this photo, and Ri really has nice eyes, as others have noted. These are two extremely cute girls and I apologize for the lousy photo that is doing nobody justice.

I also apologize for my screwy hair, which you can see in Viv's pictures of the same moment in time. I had these rollers in my hair when the people came, you see, and the magic that I must create once the rollers come out is a private thing that involves Aqua Net and spinning and various stuff that I couldn't very well do with three little kids and their mom in the bathroom with me, now could I?

We move on. If you ever want to give a happening party, you must do what you can to make sure Dreama attends. She can talk to anybody and make them giggle. She is as worldly as she is sweet. She brings nice presents and dresses in gold shiny fabric. She is the party guest from heaven.

Meanwhile, the kids had to have something to do to wile away the many hours of a party, so I let them sit at my computer and have a good time. Did I mention that there were three of them?

And I didn't remember until it was too late that my office was where I'd stashed the secret cookie tray and the ultra-secret TastyKake stash. I just wasn't thinking too clearly at this point.

I was glad the kids were occupied and quiet and I was happy to bring them little care packages of the food before I was ready to serve it. And, as you can well imagine, serving the food is just about the only thing on a person's mind when a whole lot of people have shown up to meet and great. And eat.

Amanda brought a great artichoke dip and quite possibly a lot of bread. I was beginning to lose track after I put the dip into the oven and checked on the turkey again.

Visions of pink turkey juice. People clutching their sides in anguish. A caravan to the emergency room. That's more or less what I was thinking about as I fumbled around the kitchen and I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Amanda for doing her small part to keep people well fed.

Her dip was a big hit.

And now might be a good time to mention that I'm missing a few photos, specifically those of Tamar, Mahrya, and Miriam, and since this is the second time this has happened, I guess I'm on my way to making it a point to never photograph Tamar. Tamar may or may not talk about this party in her journal, depending.

She's the smartest of the lot of us, by far.

She tried to save my sorry hide the night before by sending me an emergency replacement recipe for the mac and cheese debacle that I was slavishly and foolishly following from the stupid Martha Stewart magazine. She even tasted my version and kindly said she liked it. I believed her, and thus I carried on.

Mahrya looked quite smashing and happy and lovely, as expected. Her hair was a deep auburn red, her top was holiday greenish, and her nails were a bright shiny purple. A photo of her pulchritude would be very nice right about now, and once again, I apologize.

Instead, I took a nice photo of Ri's fiancé, Bill, who just happens to manage to be helpful even in absentia. He fixed up my directions before the party and generally offered any assistance during the party. He opened wine for me. See? Such a nice boy.

Miriam was quite festive and didn't stay long enough for me to grab a photo or even to discover her bracelet-ring-thing. I'd only gotten as far as the nifty man-pin she was wearing on her lapel when some stray party person or some slow-cooking meat thing in the oven needed my attention.

Again, I apologize for the Miriam lacuna. But as for the Kymm-in-a-blur photo ... well, this is how Kymm actually looks. She's very tall.

She also moves very quickly and she is always smiling. If she were a super hero, she would be Fast-Forward Gal. So, as you can see, we're damn lucky here to have any photo at all, let alone one as crisp and clear as this.

Kymm brought the most glorious bread pudding. If my wits had been more about me and she wasn't so fast, I would have scooped some extra pudding bits into one of my many handy containers and I'd be eating it right now, for strength and comfort.

Instead, I'm going to have to beg for the recipe and pray she doesn't booby trap hers the way Martha Stewart does.

And now we finally come to the guests of honor, the really really cute duo of Rachel and Matthew. Once again, I must apologize. Rachel is tiny like a sparrow and very soft spoken and delicate.

I'd just finished wielding and subduing a twenty-three-pound stuffed turkey and I was all set to serve some nice dessert when I discovered one tray of nothing but cookie crumbs and another of discarded cello wrappers when suddenly Rachel just popped up, next to my right elbow.

I was shocked, I tell you; happily shocked to see her and I might have had some of my own holiday negus by this time, and I might have not been as fabulously sympathetic about poor Rachel's flu symptoms as I should have been.

You see, Rachel talks very softly. I wasn't hearing everything she said. The party was in full roar at this point. The kids were grinding cookies into the very castors of my desk chair. I think I'd lost it right about then.

And so the lovely Rachel and her very fine friend Matthew are a bit blurry, but their good nature still shines through. You can see that, right?

And lest you think I do nothing but complain and apologize, let me also say how very grateful I am for all the kindnesses and little goodies and the wonderful memories that such a party can bring.

I might have been missing my family this Christmas, but many real-life and formerly virtual friends have helped to make the season bright. I thank you all.

Now, if I could just get rid of the crunchy sound every time I roll my chair, my happiness would be complete.