In which I refer to them as The Children....

The Children and I attended a ritzy sangria party on Friday night. Yes, I do like to accessorize with The Children. Did I feel bad about taking my children? No, actually, they were the only reason I was invited. Did I feel bad that taking the children limited me to one glass of sangria? You bet I did.

When I say ritzy I mean…. There wasn’t a Bud Lite in the area. The only potato chips were fancy Thai spicy ones. The crackers weren’t Ritz and there was no squeeze cheese. We had mozzarella balls. And bleu cheese stuffed olives. Rice crackers. Grape tomatoes. Olive tempanade. Smoked sausage slices with homemade spicy mustard sauce. Angelfood cake with fresh peaches and real whipped cream.

We arrived right on time with our usual entourage of stuff….. our pot luck offering, the stroller (doubles as a high chair!), diaper bag, sippy cups, toys…. I cast up a prayer to however is the patron saint of children at parties and turned the little ones loose…..

And they were angels. Delightful. Many adorable pictures of my sweet-as-sugar daughter gazing at flowers and posing, idyllic, but rock statuary. My son playing catch with the guys and using his “please, thank you, excuse me” best. My son, channeling Hank Williams again, standing on an ottoman, looking over his shoulder saying “let’s do it, boys” and singing a rocking new hit single about pirates. ARGH!! And cracking people up with his belly-stroking air-guitar strumming.

I love it when my kids make me look good