Photo: vizzual

It’s Friday night (well, not anymore, but dream with me).

Dinner is almost ready.  The boys have burgers on the grill, which is a rare treat here (things that make meat a solo main course and can’t easily be filled and cut by non-meat inherently terrify my wallet).  Everyone is helping out and cheerful and friendly (because, duh, it’s the weekend!).

We share a meal, the five of us.  We chat quietly.  We joke about a certain person not wanting to eat their salad portion (I am slowly converting them one by one …).  There is laughter.  Most of it is probably regarding some awful frat house bathroom humor.  If you were here, you might laugh too.  If you were my grandmother or That Boy’s mom, it’d be a much quieter meal (while we all tried to not say highly inappropriate-for-meal-times things).

After dinner, we clean up together.  This isn’t always the case here, but we’re getting better.  It used to be that after dinner everyone would scatter leaving a certain someone to clean the kitchen alone.  We don’t do that anymore (most of the time). Hallelujah for that.

We all move to the glassed in front porch after clean up.  There are exactly five seats, so if you’re coming over, please bring a chair.  We listen to the neighborhood’s evening cacophony of hammers and screaming children and birds.  We linger in the fresh air, enjoying time together.

After that, it’s game time.  This is not a regular occurrence in this Big House, but it should be.  We stumble our way through a round of Monopoly Deal (which we’ve heard it cool but never played) then another, then another.  As it goes, there’s much less stumbling and much more slyly stealing shit from each other and no-holds-barred strategy.  We laugh.  We eat candy.

2 hours fly by and the family game night has to end because the real game is about to begin.  The Red Wings are playing in Game 2 in Phoenix (which they go on to win, snotty ass blog predictor guy).  We watch intently.  We laugh at the hilarious old announcer man.  We cheer the Wings as the goals rack up.  If you were hanging out, we’d expect you to be rooting for the Wings as well … or not saying anything, an acceptable alternative one household member chooses to employ.  We drink Oberon.  We make popcorn.  We yell  obscenities over stupid penalties.

We really know how to party, eh?


I don’t know why I’m particularly nostalgic this morning.  We really did all those things I said we did yesterday.  It really was a good time.  So many times we’re too busy to be together, to share life.  Sometimes, though, we have a sweet chance to enjoy each others’ company.

Now that, is a finer thing.