Happy Hour - what is that again?

The Mr. and I have been parents for almost 25 years.  It has been a journey like all others, filled with smooth and rough road, pleasant scenery and stormy weather.  A moment of reflection came at an unlikely time during vacation.  We had just spent a hot afternoon at the beach with our younger son who will be starting his Junior year at college in just a few short weeks, the sand burned the bottoms of our feet and we were feeling just a little droopy.

"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.

Link to Goombays