One Day Those Bottoms Will Wipe Themselves

I am afraid of what wild and crazy old people Hubby and I are going to be.  Our kids are barely old enough to stay home without us, and we are all, "We're free!  We're free!  Don't wait up, kids!"

Each year, we host an adults only Christmas party the weekend after Thanksgiving.  Each year except this one.  What with our kitchen stuff vomiting all over the house, we have little room for Christmas decorations, let alone for 40 of our closest friends.  So, no party.

On Thursday, I got a call from one of the usual party guests.

Her:  The Christmas season just isn't the same without your kick-off party.

Me:  Clearly, but you're going to have to deal with it this year.

Her:  Um, no.  I'm telling everyone that we are meeting at (local bar/restaurant) Saturday at 9:00.

Me:  Perfect, except 9:00?  We're old.  Isn't that a little late?

Her:  Yes, but you're going to do it anyway.

Fortunately for her, our volleyball team was scheduled to play at 8:00, so we'd be finishing up just in time for her shin-dig. 

Remember that we play volleyball in our church's adult volleyball league?  The motto is "Be Good or Be Fun".  We bring the fun.  Except last night, the other team really had no skills at all, so we were the good.  That's fun, too.

So, on the heels of our big win, we headed out to the bar. 

Look at us old people go.

December 1st had dawned unseasonable warm, so it was a perfect night to take advantage of the outside fire pit.  Thirty or so of us had a great time catching up.

And  I was introduced to one DE-licious beer.

I can't keep it to myself.  Friends, I don't even like raspberries or anything raspberry flavored, except this.  I really, really like this.


source

 

For my less sophisticated friends, do not embarrass yourself and pronounce it fram-Boise, Idaho.  It's French, people.  Just say raspberry lambic. 

 

For all you wine snobs who don't drink beer, you are supposed to drink this beer from a wine glass.  

 

Really, it's the perfect marriage of sophistication and redneck.

 

Despite the fact that all of our kids go to the same school, play many of the same sports, and we all go to the same church, we rarely get to sit and chat for more than a few minutes at a time.  It's ludicrous, really.  We all have so much fun, laughing until our sides hurt, when we do get together. 

 

If we got together more often, we wouldn't have to stay up so late in order to catch up.

 

At one point, someone yelled in amazement, "It's 12:30!" 

 

12:30.  We are some crazy cool old people.

 

We were feeling pretty good about ourselves, staying out till all hours.

 

We even did the typical college thing of being famished at 12:30am.  While we didn't stop at White Castle, we did sit and have a snack when we got home.

 

I didn't crawl into bed until almost 2:00 am. 

 

And at 2:03am, Cuckoo woke me with a "I have to go potty!" scream from the landing. 

 

That was followed by the 3:10 cough and vomit from the same Cuckoo.

 

And the 3:27 cry for his blankie.

 

And the 4:01 call from Turken that his belly hurt.

 

And the 4:38 "I have to go potty!"

 

And the 6:00 "Can I get out of bed?"  (The answer was a loud, decisive NO!")

 

And the 7:30 internal alarm that said, "You agreed that one of the kids could serve at the 9:00 Mass." 

 

During it all, Hubby did the "I'm going to ignore those yells and pretend I'm sleeping so I don't have to get out of bed because I'm old and tired and she's the one who made me stay up half the night so she could imbibe in lambic let her deal with it" ruse.

 

(I'm onto you, Dearest Hubby, and I'm dreaming up one nice, big bowl of payback.)

 

In our excitement to be "Free!  Free!" we forgot one very important detail.

 

We aren't free.

 

Yet.

 

Our time will come.

 

Have no fear.

 

And when it does, beware.

 

And buy stock in lambic.