Pizza, Wedding Champagne, and History Being Made

It wasn’t until some time late Monday that I realized that Mark and I staying home alone with the kids on election night was a poor decision. So I called out to my Friday Mama Posse like a deer raises her tail to signal her kinfolk.

Sure we have young kids. Yes, it’s a school night. But heralding this new desperately needed change, something that’s been dangled in front of us tantalizingly for so very long–if, or when, we finally get it and seal the deal–we really need to be in the company of friends.

So I heated up some homemade squash soup, tossed champagne left-over from our wedding into the fridge, and called an order in to Extreme Pizza.

By 7:30 Megan had already cried tears of joy, most adults were wearing old party hats from Kate’s second birthday, and I was drunkenly photographing my “I Voted” sticker in different settings–on a doll, on Baby Wes, on Mary‘s forehead. Oh, and let’s not forget me making Drew pretend to shoot up with the Fisher Price doctor’s kit syringe.

Good times.

One could make the argument that the kids–bleary-eyed one-year-olds and amped up three-year-olds who were ravaging the house with a toxic combination of toys, organic Teddy Puffs, and each other’s rabid encouragement–were acting more mature than the adults.

Aside from the two lucky ones who scored our limited Baby Sleeping Vessels, the kids stayed up way too late. And the adults drank way too much.

We’re all paying for it today, and I can’t think of any reason more worth it.

Barack on, Obama! Once these hangovers pass we can all work on getting used to what it feels like to be proud of our President. And heck, maybe even our country.

Can I hear an Amen?!