But the greatest love, the love above all loves...even greater than that of a mother is the tender, passionate, undying love of one beer drunken slob for another. - Irish love ballad
Robert and I are blessed with incredible friends and family. These people, these wonderful individuals, are people we call on to celebrate in the good and share in the bad. They are much like ourselves. Young. Restless. Exuberant. They are authentically funny.
Recently, family and friends came to spend some time at our home. We baptised our Josiah and then spent the week showing off the Great Northwest.
Day 1 started at 11pm. I don't normally wake up with a wine hangover, but thanks to Day 1 I did. I am officially too old to get drunk with my friends and family. I laughed uncontrollably. My face hurt. I woke up to beer bottles and wine glasses and half-naked men on my couch. (They're family, but that is not the point.)
Day 2-7 are filled with more drinks. Lots of drinks at all hours of the day and in a seemingly acceptable fashion. These days, these wine and beer filled days, are days where I watch a couple of best friends laugh with a couple of Lindsey men and we laugh and laugh and some of us throw up. Not me. I don't throw up.
I hear stories of peeping Tom's while masturbating, women's faces having stretch marks, people repeating themselves while saying, "You were whacking off and a woman was peeping through the window?", and mostly I hear, "AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!" coming from my own mouth. We watch homemade videos where men are drunk and laughing and this happens to make my husband laugh then they all laugh. And I laugh more. And the girls laugh. And we laugh and laugh and laugh. It has been a couple of weeks and I want to laugh now.
In the mix we lost a wine bottle in the parking lot, two wine glasses came home with us from a restaurant, one spit can may have spilled all over a truck, someone threw up milk, and we must not forget flatulence. Farting is inevitable.
If I have learned one thing from that little vacation it is that I am much too old for that crap. I can't stay up past 1pm without paying for it the next day. My kids demand too much. I need to breastfeed. Isaiah's activities are still scheduled. I love a clean house. I love the friends/family, but I love my privacy. And, how I love my bedroom with the private master bath.
There is something to say about that drunken mess. These people, these incredible people, are home to me. They are people who I am allowed to be completely myself in front of. I can cuss out my husband in front of them without judgement. I don't have to be a hostess with them. I can go to sleep knowing everything is taken care of. They don't require much from me. They ask for nothing but beer, wine, an air mattress, and several blankets. They're family. How I miss them.
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