<http://schema.org/articleBody>
"  The last time I&amp;#039;d been to a party at their house, you could still see the top of the World Trade Center from their deck. My neighbors had invited us and our then very young children to watch our community&amp;#039;s Fourth of July fireworks from their house up on the mountain, a just-barely 1,000-foot elevation in northern New Jersey. This time, though, they invited us to a grown-ups-only cocktail party on Saturday night, despite the economy and the spate of recent layoffs around here. And this time, we had smaller things to talk about. By the time I was fifteen minutes into a passionate discussion about the state of travel soccer on Saturday night, I realized that the other guests and I hadn&amp;#039;t talked about much except our kids. There was a brief conversation about the rainy weather and somebody&amp;#039;s car stuck in the mud out front. My husband asked the host for his sangria recipe, which lead to a short dissertation on wine. But, outside the neighborly discussion over what tool to use to remove a huge rock from the septic tank pit, we all talked about our kids. Another mom and I assessed our sons&amp;#039; new fourth grade teacher. One dad talked about how his 10-year-old daughter is trying to get her stories published in magazines, and several of us expressed fear over our kids attending middle school next year. Often, we came back to soccer, but with several Recreation coaches and quite a few soccer moms and dads in attendance, well, we couldn&amp;#039;t help ourselves. Nobody seemed to want to talk about politics, having been overloaded with it for months. Someone dared to bring up the failing economy, but soon, everyone involved was mumbling about college funds and Christmas while stabbing at our cheesecake with our forks. It was safer to talk about our kids. What about movies? Who&amp;#039;s going out these days. What about books?  Well, we talked about what our kids are reading. And what I&amp;#039;m writing - which is, come to think of it, about kids.  What about current events? Who wants to talk about the latest layoffs or the impending automobile industry bailout at a Saturday night party when it weighs on us all week long? I&amp;#039;d much rather find out what&amp;#039;s in the sangria, and to talk about our kids. And this isn&amp;#039;t the first time. Shortly after the World Trade Center was destroyed, one of our neighbors invited a half-dozen families from our street over for dinner. They had extra food, because other neighbors -- a wife and three kids who&amp;#039;d lost their husband and father in the attacks -- had turned their dinner down. They had more than enough food, thanks to everyone&amp;#039;s generosity, they said. And so, we gathered and ate and talked about...our kids. Everything else just seemed too big, too scary, too much to handle in the days after 9/11. At one point, the house full of kids got eerily quiet. We parents called our children, but no one answered. We wandered down into the garage where we feared that the little kids had followed the big ones out into the night. But just as we began to head outside to search for them, all the kids popped out from behind a huge tarp with big smiles on their faces. And we couldn&amp;#039;t help but smile, too. And then we went back to talking about our kids. Maybe when things get too big, too scary and too much to handle, it&amp;#039;s easier to concentrate on smaller things. For a party full of parents, that&amp;#039;s our kids. It&amp;#039;s our way of easing the pain without the hangover. I mean, what was in that sangria? "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.goodhousekeeping.com/life/parenting/a21998/cocktail-party-talk-inevitably-turns-to-the-kids/?src=shelter_footer>