Hubs and I went to a child’s birthday party this weekend.
I like how people throw parties for kids here. There’s usually some ridiculous play structure in the back yard, which the kids play on for like four hours, in the heat. Then, just as they’re about to collapse from heat exhaustion, they all go inside and drink a ton of unnaturally flavored juices, sing, eat cake, freak out over presents, then run back outside. The inside stuff takes about three minutes, total.
Then they all pass out from their sugar comas, under couches and on top of trampolines. Or standing up.
ALL THE WHILE, the adults are having their own party, which involves a lot of joking, and food and drink and merriment. Really, kid parties out here are about adults. And this works well for me, because I am an adult.
But the reason I really enjoy these kinds of events is because of this:
When these kids ran from the kitchen (where all the women were gathered) to the back patio (where all the men had congregated), my husband said:
“I guarantee my wife had something to do with this.”
And he was so right.