"Let's get a little something," I suggested.
"We can go to Goombay's," said our younger son.
I knew what I wanted. Yes, another vacation Margarita on the rocks with a salted rim. No, I don't need an intervention. In fact, when the glass was placed in front of me at the bar I said, "This is my first happy hour in about 20 years."
To which my son said, "Geeez, thanks Mom."
It wasn't meant as a point of guilt, but more of a mile marker on the road. By no means do I think I will suddenly be planting myself at the local bar and have a stool with my name on it. However, the Mr. and I are now in that place with a bit of freedom, extra choices and no need to hurry home, rush through dinner and head out to a game/practice/activity or whatever.
A happy hour of appreciation and in fact, one we shared with our son. It is not an empty nest. It is a Fed Well nest in which occupants can now relax and kick back every now and then.