1999 was parenting hard time. Our boys were 11, 9 and 6, so we rode a hot loop of AYSO (schlep), class potlucks (ulp), art projects (enough with the toilet paper tubes), science fairs (Nobody knows what the hell it is, and that’s exactly why he deserves an “A”!) and, of course, flu, flu, and flu. Anna and I managed a bush league social life, 90 percent of it centering around parenting events that were always on weekends and always over before 8:30 PM so we could rush home, get the kids to bed, and be way too tired to have sex.
Cut to 16 years later.With the kids gone, all the domestic structures that inhibit a scorcher social life are history. There’s no such thing as a “school night”. I don’t have to worry about “modeling appropriate behavior”. Hell, clothing is optional in our house these days.
So last month we threw a party. Not on a Friday night. Not on a Saturday night. On a SUNDAY night. Crazy, right?
On ANY night in 1999, four of the eight people we invited would have canceled because Johnny had a 102, or he had a gummy bear lodged somewhere. But not in 2012. Johnny’s in a dorm, crunching a physics text (not), so the empty nesters were free to get down! In da house! Doin’ chard! Rockin’ chevre! Kickin’ Pictionary! It was nuts. And get this. Everyone stayed until until 12:30. That’s AM, my peeps.
Anna and I were beyond ready to self-congratulate for launching new era of 50-something party mayhem. But when the door closed on the last guest, we looked at each other and acknowledged the truth. The only reason we rocked the wee hours was because no one wanted to go home to an empty nest.