Eight Oh Nine Saturday Morning

If having thirty-nine boys and girls aged sixteen to eighteen at your house sounds like anything less than total fun to you, then please don’t move in with me. We had pizza – Little Caesar’s is crap but it’s cheap. We had soda and chips. I made a bunch of milkshakes (chocolate, chocolate mint, cookies ‘n cream) with the milkshake maker thing we got for a wedding present nineteen years eleven months ago. My son opened presents. People jumped or hung out on the trampoline. People wailed on each other in the inflatable boxing ring we hired (complete with big huge gloves about three times the size of your head – and it was very cool to hold my own against two motivated teenaged boys, there’s something to be said for staying healthier than your average forty nine year old). People sat on the porch swing. People shot each other out of the sky with the Xbox 360 on the widescreen. People turned up the music. People went home late. People, about a dozen, are here still this bright sunny morning. Not all of them boys –- clearly some parents have daughters they know and trust, and with this crowd, they should. These are great kids, my son’s friends, a mixture of band, drama, advanced placement classes, swim team, and grade school. Nothing went wrong. It never does. Life is good. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.