I can safely say that nobody – and I mean nobody at that hotel – had ever seen anything like our assembly of women in varying stages and ages of motherhood + one very talented and very patient gentleman photographer who was capturing it all for posterity’s sake. Oh the things that poor man must have seen….
Anyway, we came, we sweated (holy sultry steaming sidewalks, Austin) and we conquered what I am fairly confident is a premier party destination for bachelorette parties and spring breakers (summer breakers?) across the Lonestar state. Our hotel staff was top notch, and the venue could not have been prettier, but let’s just say our fellow patrons were 100% drunker and 100% angrier between the hours of 11 pm and 5 am then most of our group. (I can’t speak for the babies who may or may not have been angry and awake some of those hours.) Turns out 6th street is like the bourbon street of Texas, from what I observed. But hot damn, you people know how to make a good margarita.
Speaking of margaritas, one of my absolute favorite moments from the weekend was sharing a steaming rooftop table with Haley, Bonnie, Sarah, Adrienne and Christy as we sipped tequila and laughed like old friends. Evie was there too, but she was not imbibing. Directly.
The whole weekend was such a success. There was such a feeling of camaraderie and of sisterhood, even. Not a trace of cattiness, no cliquish dynamic, and, from what I could tell, everybody felt completely welcome. And they were. Oh, how very welcome each one of you were. Hallie perfectly captured the spirit of the weekend with her opening remarks — “it is good that you are here.”
Marion and Haley’s talks were so perfectly attuned to the spiritual climate of the audience. And then Jen…gorgeous, 6-foot-something supermodel Jen took the house down with her keynote address on Saturday night. What a party we had, ladies.
Let’s do it again! Next year in __________ !
(I vote Denver.)
p.s. My darling Genevieve is BALDING after her stint in the humidity. Coincidence (she’s 7 months old) or were her delicate hair follicles simply destroyed by the heat and stress of being worn against my chest, Ergo style, for 36 hours straight? I mourn. I weep. I need a better hobby…