My husband and I just got home from a party – yes, an adult party.  A “kegger,” to be exact.  Our neighbor, a senior in high school, did the honor of babysitting Sophie while we met up with our friends.

I was in college the last time I went to a kegger.  And in college, we didn’t call such gatherings keggers, we called them frat parties.  And back then, twenty or so years ago, they weren’t nearly as civilized as the party tonight – where most, if not all, of the guests had children sleeping at home.

No Budweiser for us 40-somethings.  Stella Artois, thank you.  And wine for those of us who are no longer (or never were) beer drinkers.  And jello shots for those who longed for the good ‘ole days of college.  And even the jello shots, which were offered in cherry vodka, pina colada, lime and orange vodka flavors, were a little more sophisticated than the ones I remember.  My husband, the Frenchie, never had a jello shot before tonight.  He had trouble getting it out of the shot glass, and required a few minutes of coaching. 

We came home to a sleeping Sophie, who survived her first time with a babysitter who was someone other than her Grammy or her two beloved weekday sitters.  This is very good news.  Our days as weekend prisoners to our kids are over!   Hallelujah!