by Cathy & Patti
How many years have we known each other? Seven.
How many times have we marveled at the fact that we live parallel lives? Lots.
Aside from having girls the same age that could probably pass for sisters, we are both married to stubborn, strong-willed Latin men. And considering all of this, how many times have we planned family get togethers? Let's just say you could count them on one hand. How ridiculous is that?
Don't get us wrong - it's not that we don't want to, it's just that we never think about that. Why? Because we met while us moms were taking our daughters to ballet class, and it slowly became this "girl" day thing every Saturday; coffee chat while the girls pirouetted and twirled in dance class, followed by lunch chat and perhaps a mall excursion. It was a win-win!
We began having more frequent get-togethers at each other's houses but again, those were usually planned when one of our husbands was working late or out of town. Thus, husbands never fully got integrated into the scene except for a few rare occasions, where they indeed hit it off. Amazingly. So it would make sense that we would get together as families, right? But we really hadn't. This realization came as a shock to us one day several weeks ago when we were Gmail-chatting and the topic came up. WHY haven't we gotten the whole family together sooner?
Amazed at how shockingly ridiculous this was, we promptly agreed on a date and time right then and there that day on G-chat. We penciled it in, and by God we were going to get our families together. So was scheduled, the first ever Barbeque de Familia de TWWW, or as we lovingly refer to it as - Ghettoque.
Cathy
Of course we didn't intend for it to turn into a Ghettoque - 'cuz ya know, we strive to always be all klassy and shiat. Everything was very nice and proper from the minute we set foot into Patti and M's backyard. The patio table sat prepared with beautiful tableware, the shiny new umbrella sat tilted just so to protect us from the blazing sun and the meat was marinating in some yummy Argentinian concoction. The girls immediately took to their basement and the four of us spent the afternoon chatting, sipping and stuffing our faces with choripan, chicken, steak and Greek salad...until...the girls came out for air.
The day was hot and humid and since we didn't have the luxury of traipsing around the backyard with our bathing suits on like the girls, we had to sweat it out. While enjoying 95 degrees in the shade of the table umbrella, the girls began using the garden hose to fill up water balloons. If you've ever tried to fill up water balloons, you'll know that the only problem with that was that the hose can become a slippery little sucker when trying to fill those teeny tiny balloons. So guess where most of that water was ending up? You guessed it. All over us. After several scoldings by the Latino dads to basta! and cientate! they had enough. Into the garage they went to plan their revenge...
Patti
...suddenly, the menfolk burst out of the garage - completely wrapped in thick, black Glad bags. M had MacGyvered protective warrior gear for Joe and himself, cutting arm and head holes at lighting speed into the trash bags with who-knows-what-tool he pulled off the shelves in there. They were ready for water. Water war. Upon seeing their dads, the girls shu-RIEKED at decibels that caused the neighborhood dogs to bark themselves into a frenzy.
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| Note my newly-purchased beach ball in the corner. |
But let me rewind for a moment. (Cue the scratching of a record.)
When I informed M that Cathy and her family would be coming over for a long-time-comin' barbeque, at first he was confused. "Her WHOLE family?" Cathy is Greek. He pictured her parents, her sister and brother-in-law, and other assembled loud Greeks crashing our shack. I explained that I meant Cathy's family - as in: Husband? Kids? Relief flooded his anti-social face, and plans were miraculously cemented.
M likes to act all tough and macho, but underneath is a lil' pussycat who actually truly cares about making an impression. He diced and sliced and chopped up his homemade chimichurri, prepared the flan for postre, and scrubbed a wall or two for good measure.Since he cares so much about being a good host, I nearly gasped at the level of ghetto that was bedazzling our tree in the backyard when I stepped outside to prepare the patio. "What the - What IS that?" There, dangling with absolutely not a modecum of shame from that tree, was our old, green garden hose. And it was spraying water in a trailer park-y way all over the grass.
"It's a sprinkler," he said, AS IF IT WAS.
"No, it's not!" I retorted. "It's a HOSE twisted around a tree!"
Since we hadn't gotten around to buying a sprinkler attachment for the hose, and it was a scorchingly hot day, M thought he would create a "sprinkler" by wrapping our old garden hose a few times around the thickest branches of our half-chopped tree, and fashioning it into a shower head of sorts. "The girls will love it!"
"This has GOT to go!" I said, and I began to undo the monstrosity that was spewing water everywhere. I then promptly ran to CVS and bought a beach ball sprinkler, and felt instantly more civilzed. "I don't know why you spent that money," M scolded when he saw me return with the monster ball, "my idea was perfect!"
That whole incident set the entire tone for the water fight that was to be. And boy, did it be. Back to the present, as the menfolk ripped through the yard donned in black plastic, I couldn't help but wonder, at well, the wonder of it all.
And they were ALL screaming up a storm - even our "macho" men. Those screams combined with the flying water, the black plastic garbage bag get-ups, the neighbor's barking dog, and the chain link fence -- I mean, M might as well have left that twisted, rubbery, green "sprinkler" dangling from the tree. Indeed, our little Sunday afternoon barbeque had very quickly been taken down a few notches from fashionable to Ghet. To.
And you know what? We wouldn't have had it any other way.
