So the dishwasher is crammed full enough that it looks like a family of eighteen ate dinner here tonight.
Which is sort of what happened.
The only thing is that we decided to skip the assumed part that sort of implies that perhaps something healthy was eaten in this house, because HELLO! Super Bowl! I think we have ingested our weights in cheese dips and bean dips and Polish dogs and brownies and chocolate chip cookies and sour cream and chips and more chips and sodas and adult beverages and pretzel M&Ms and miniature corn dogs. Our veins will protest tomorrow, when the blood needs to find a way to flow through all the fatty residue that is also known as a Biggest Football Game of the Year Hangover.
But you know what? Everyone was happy tonight. The junk food was perfection. The kids were hopped up on nine kinds of sugars and trans-fats and JUST BEING TOGETHER EXCITEMENT. The grown-up girls got to talk and talk and talk. The grown-up boys cheered the Giants to victory, which didn’t mean a whole lot to them, since the Broncos weren’t playing. And then we all had more snacks. And more brownies. And more chips and cheese dip.
The kids were a little rowdy, but we wouldn’t have had it any other way. Our motto around here is simply QUIET KIDS ARE BORING KIDS. We don’t like boring kids. We like the noise kicked up a notch or twelve, and we keep things interesting by letting someone have the privilege of kicking over a root beer on the bedroom floor.
And good brownies.
And I hope that when you tucked YOUR little fellow into bed, he said his prayers exactly like the boy did tonight. “Thank you, God, for letting me have the time of my life tonight with all of my great buddies.”
Happy Sunday night.