Who?

Unlike me, my mother stresses and over exerts herself when she is having company. She spends more time scrubbing in one day than I do in a month. Okay, a year. I chase the biggest dust bunnies, clean bathrooms and hope people will consume enough wine to not notice the rest.

Over the weekend, she was preparing for some guests and I could tell she was getting stressed. I offered to come over and help her clean. (My sister, of course, routinely makes this offer.)

Later she was telling my father about our conversation, "Sheri said she would come over and help me clean."

He replied, "Sheri who?"

Homecomings

My sister and I went through the Christmas decorations yesterday. No blood was shed. In fact, we didn't even have to arm wrestle. We were in unison on several items as we turned to my mother and said, "You have to keep this." I took a few things. Like I really need more decorations.

Then I started getting antsy. I wanted to shout, "It's time to go to the neighborhood party!" I did not want to miss a minute.

Everyone should have an occasional day that includes hours and hours of laugh-out-loud fun. I think I've filled my quota for the year. Even my mother stayed until the bitter end. She must have been enjoying our antics and I know she enjoyed the stories. I liked it best when she would say, "Sheri, do you remember so and so?" With complete disrespect, I said, "No Mom, I only went to grade school, middle school and high school with this person. Why don't you introduce us?"

Then the photos started circulating. The stories got a lot more interesting. (That's the great thing about this age --what are they going to do, ground us?)

The neighborhood is right behind a naval plant. Well, I don't know what they make there now but when I was growing up (Cold War Years,) it was all very hush-hush. As far as I know, none of us are radioactive. The military underestimated a group of kids who ran along that strip. As we sat behind my friends' homes last night, the fence (with barbed wire) is still there. Many of us said, "I've scaled that fence." One said, "I could still do it." Thankfully, level heads prevailed.

We danced. We sang. We ate well. We told stories that no parent should ever have to hear.

I could write forever about this. Trust me, there's more to come. But I have another homecoming. The husband comes back today. He missed a great party.

The Party

The husband is out of town and I am so sorry he will miss the party of the season. It's not black tie. In fact, most participants (including me) will be in jeans and t-shirts.

Other than paying for fried chicken, I'm pretty sure no one will ask anyone for money.

This weekend, we will gather in my childhood neighborhood. I will greet people who helped raise me and I will see people who have been there my entire life. I will laugh with people that I have played tag, hide and seek and spin the bottle. I will see children -- now grown -- that I used to babysit.

I love tradition. I am comforted by routine. I love it that my parents still live in my childhood home. It looks completely different and my room is no longer my room but the heart warming feeling of walking in there is still there. I love it that the same neighbors still live next door and across the street.

I attend lots of parties. Everything from black tie fundraisers to simple dinner parties with friends and I know what to wear and which persona to present. Tomorrow, I'm going to the party of the season and I get to just be me.

Is the Grass Greener?

My next door neighbors have two young children and an aging dog, Winston. He is gray and old (the dog, not the husband) and I'm thinking his vision is not quite what it used to be. He wanders. He sometimes wanders over here.

The neighbors were preparing for a party, complete with caterers and valet parking. Greeters in white jackets and waiters with trays.

I was doing laundry and hanging unmentionables in the trees. (They can't see my backyard so I was safe.) I did sort of drape myself over the fence as a voyeur.

Then I sat on the patio with underwear flapping in the air and Winston decided to come back over. Winston wanted to party with me.

Light-colored Carpeting

When we renovated and moved into this house 12 years ago, we chose light carpeting. I have no idea what we were thinking. The baby was 8-years old -- an age that involves climbing trees and lots of muddy exploring. We had a big, black dog and now we have another one.

For three years, we had the oldies with us. That involved multiple stains of every imaginable type.

The husband's drink of choice is red wine. He routinely knocks it over while reaching for glasses or the remote control.

In 12 years, we've had lots of parties. There's an old saying, "It ain't a party until something gets broken." In our case, it ain't a party until something gets spilled.

I don't need photos to remember our years (so far) in this house. I can look at the carpeting.

One of my friends is trained as an interior decorator. She also owns several homes. As you can imagine, they're all beautiful. She told me once that carpeting should be in one of three color palettes: sand, sea or grass. If I ever buy new carpeting, I will take her advice.

Big Daddy's Gone -- Let's Party!

In a moment of pure insanity, I decided to have a birthday party for my maniac dog. She has lots of friends, mostly fellow retrievers.

Her second birthday is Thursday. People don't really appreciate her because she is obnoxious but the other dogs seem to like her. She's a party animal.

When I first met her, she was the wild one in the litter. She hopped over her siblings and barked her little butt off. She has not changed. Some might have seen a maniac; I saw a kindred spirit.

For her party, we will have dog treats and people appetizers. If it doesn't rain, we will have a ball.

Last night, I explained this party to the husband. (Another Wild Bill moment -- I had the dates wrong.) I thought he was coming home on Friday. Wrong! He's coming home on Thursday.

So, I figure he has two choices:

He can go to the club or make himself scarce for a while, or
He can hang with the girls and watch 8 to 12 dogs frolic in our back yard.

Divorce Parties

Have you heard of these? I have not attended one but I was aware that they exist. There seem to be two types:

Women who have some cocktails, put his photos on a pinata and take turns bashing his face in; or

A couple who chooses to throw a party to celebrate their years together right before they go their separate ways.

I'm sounding like an oldie but both versions of this party give me the creeps. I hear the Belle in my head, "That is not proper behavior." I'm trying to imagine the invitation. Is it:

Bring your favorite baseball bat, or
Bring your favorite memory?

As much as I hate the idea, there is a little logic to it. You invite your friends and family to watch you join as a union. They celebrate your accomplishments and your family over the years. When you end it, it extends far beyond the two innocents who said, "I do." It changes lives. It makes friends question their own relationships. It is not fair to children. Parents on both sides wonder where they went wrong. Traditions get changed and rearranged.

I picked up a small book called, The Divorce Party by Laura Dave. I believe it is her first novel. The concept is simple: one woman at the beginning of her marriage and one woman at the end of hers. Their intertwining struggles made me laugh and cry. It's a quick read: a few hours on the beach or an evening alone. I hope you'll read it.

I have no plans to get divorced. If, Heaven Forbid, that were to happen. I will not have a party.

Impromptu Parties

If you're with the right group of people, a party can break out at any time. I live with an "out there" person. A lot of my friends can turn any occasion into a party. I used to think I was a victim of circumstance but now I accept that I am often the instigator.

Jan has a routine that cracks me up. She will call twice on the home phone. If I do not answer, she will call twice on my cell phone. If I do not answer, she will walk into my kitchen. When a girl needs her girlfriend, the barriers go away. Strong people just knock them out of the way. The message is, "I will find you." I am always relieved to be found.

Houseboy came in for a cold drink after spending many hours loading the fallen tree and many limbs into the chipper. (Abby calls him Poolboy, although I do not have a pool.) My next door neighbor's daughter, and my friend, came over with her puppy. We passed him around like old women do with an infant. I played referee with my maniac dog.

The iPod was rocking. We discussed children and dogs and storm damage. It was an impromptu party and the most fun I've had in weeks.

The Last One at the Party

We attended a holiday party last weekend -- the first of many. It's the kick-off of the season. We will host a couple ourselves. We will attend oodles more. It's always fun but at some point, I'm ready to go home.

As the crowds start to dwindle and I'm itching to get my coat, the husband will find a piano. Or, he will start a conversation that could result in a new business opportunity. I should be better at networking but it's not my strong suit.

So, I've learned to drive myself so I have an escape or beg someone for a ride home.

I am married to Mr. Last Man at the Party.