Oh Holy Night...wait, no...here we come a'wassailing...

I like a good holiday party. There should be ugly Christmas sweaters and tables overflowing with delicious but messy potluck contributions. Don't forget the beer. And throw in some slightly off-key caroling. Seriously, there is nothing better than hanging out with friends, drinking mulled, warm wine, and occasionally breaking into song. It's been a rough couple of months for me, and even more so for some of my friends, and it was so nice to just come together and laugh and eat and chat. I didn't go too overboard...I made some chili and macaroni and cheese and bought some cookies from Costco and crossed my fingers that our guests would show up with delicious food (which they did). My one special contribution to the the party this year were the luminaries that I lined the sidewalk with. I wasn't sure how they would turn out, because we live on a pretty well lit street. However, you could definitely tell there was a party at our house, and there's something kind of magical about candlelight.

The holiday party tradition started a million years ago when M threw the mother of all college holiday parties and introduced us to wassail (we were skeptical at first. we were definitely keg stand people back then). Up until this year, the holiday party was always fun, and we looked forward to it, but to be honest, the people that we saw at the party were usually the same people we had seen the night before at the bar. (we used to hang out. a lot.) This year, it was an opportunity to actually reconnect with people I hadn't seen in ages. Another change this year was the "baby convention". Our party this year started out with toddlers galore...roaming underfoot, trying to climb the stairs, reaching up onto the table to grab cookies, fighting over sippy cups. It was beautiful and chaotic and joyful. Then, the babies got tired and went home with mamas and papas who wanted to stay, but were secretly glad to be going home and to bed, because that's what parents of one year olds are. Tired most of the time.

Then, there was a second wave of holiday revelry. Grown ups without babes in tow arrived. We put Laurel to bed and drank more wassail and broke out the drums and ukeleles and sang a very long rendition of the Twelve Days of Christmas, and a very muddled version of Happy Christmas War is Over and a very off-key version of White Christmas. And then we drank more wassail and stuffed ourselves with gobi manchurian and savory cheesecake.

I can't wait for next year's holiday party.