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.

Repetition

I take great comfort in routine, tradition and repetition. And, I get teased a lot for it. I like the way it feels to do something year after year. I cry when the husband reads The Night Before Christmas to our grown children on Christmas Eve. I love it when one of the kids says, "But we always do ..." I am a pest with my own parents about our traditions.

If you've raised children, you could probably quote many books: Goodnight Moon, The Cat in the Hat, (or anything by Dr. Seuss,) etc. It was a comfort to them as they tried to fall asleep.

I am the same way with movies. I could watch certain movies (and I do) over and over again. I like the fact that I don't have to stay awake until the end. I know how it ends. It's like someone reading me a goodnight story. As soon as I start to nod off, the husband changes the channel to ESPN or The Golf Channel.