Last night was the first of many single soldier gathering at the Longest Year household. I cooked an awesome meal (Jayna's Hungarian shrimp and pasta and fried tomatoes) and our guests brought the drinks and dessert. Let me just say that wine, 21 year old scotch and ice cream cake don't mix so very well. (Though, ice cream cake is awesome for breakfast the next day.) The kid was amazing and flirted with all the boys during dinner, and then passed right out and slept through the din of 5 drunken soldiers telling war stories in the kitchen. She's awesome, even though she did wake us up at 5:30 this morning.
Yesterday the husband also picked up our brand new bicycles and broke his in by doing drunken wheelies up and down our street at 11 at night. I spent the majority of the time yelling "Car!" and shaking my head as the husband wiped out in the neighbor's front lawn (yes, we are those neighbors. PWT hooligans, all the way). Each of our guests also got a turn, as it's only proper to share, and they didn't disappoint in the stupidity either. Only on his bike, though. Not mine. I don't share that well.
I'm loving the husband being home, and loving the friends he is bringing over. It's nice to be at ease with a group of guys and feel perfectly comfortable ripping on them just as hard as I would on the husband.
