Party time

My youngest son is having a party. Yes, he's turning five in a few weeks, but that's not the party he's focused on right now. He's thinking ahead about a HUGE party he's planning. He announced this last week on the way home from school. And I'm psyched. Granted I'll be in my 70s when it happens but from what I hear, it's going to be a blast.

First, he's going to invite his four best friends from school. And these guys are weally, weally funny. Think about the funniest people you know. Then multiply that by infinity billion. That's how funny these guys are. Oh, and I'm invited too. And daddy. He's not sure about his six-year old brother yet but he's thinking about it. It hinges largely on whether or not his brother helps him find his missing Lego Star Wars Droid before then. Right now it's not looking so good.

His last birthday party was at Pump-it-Up. But that was so 2010. For this party they are going to THE BEST PLACE ON EARTH. Which, according to my son, is New York. Or California. Or Utah. Or Santa Fe. Or Central Illinois.  But most likely it'll be New York. Or California. Or Utah. Or Santa Fe. Or Central Illinois.

And even though he's not quite five yet, my son realizes that in life, it's all about the journey. And so he's decided he and his friends are going to this party in style. No cross-country road trip for them. No, they are going to get a plane. (Legally I assume, but he wasn't clear on that.) And they are going to have so much fun on the plane. Everyone gets a window seat. Unless you don't want one, then you don't have to sit in a window seat. But you should because it's super cool to see out the window. There are going to be snacks. Lots of snacks and not just those stupid twisty pretzels. There's going to be Pirate Booty. The white kind with the cheese. And chocolate. And juice boxes. I know this because I am responsible for packing and holding it all.

But that's just the beginning. When they get to New York, or California, or Utah, or Santa Fe, or Central Illinois, they are going to go into a hotel...and....this is the best part according to my son....drink beer. Lots of beer. Probably six whole beers.

And of course there will be cake. White and chocolate.

But perhaps the most enticing part is that (and I know you're going to be envious now) everyone is going to share a room.

AND a bathroom.

Can't wait? Well, you have to. This party is for his  41st birthday. Which is in 36 years and 20 days.

Still, it doesn't hurt to plan ahead and so I asked if I could bring a few friends of my own. I got an emphatic no. Followed by a yes. I was told I could bring Lucy, our cat. Now, math isn't my strong suit but by my basic calculations, I am pretty sure that Lucy, who is 10 now, will be the ripe old age of dead by then, so I'm not going to turn in her RSVP just yet.

When I pointed out that my plus-one may not be in great travel form in three decades, I was told I could invite our close friends Matt and Cheryl. I was then told that aside from myself and his grandmas, no girls are allowed. (So my apologies Cheryl, but I now have to revoke your invite.)

Four guys sharing six beers and one bathroom in New York. Or California. Or Utah. Or Santa Fe. Or Central Illinois. With their aging parents. It's clearly going to be the party of the century.

I hope you all get an invite.

But don't hold your breath.

It's a Life Sentence on Facebook.