Missed my mate, mate

With four days' notice, Ainsley was able to wrangle up some friends willing to watch the kids for a few hours so she could accompany me to a black-tie affair in Tyson's Corner; the head British Air Attache had invited 300 of his closest friends to a Royal Air Force dinner in honor of The Battle of Britain, since those Battle of Saratoga celebrations never seemed to catch on.

There were more general officers than you could shake a box of fish & chips at, plus various British officers brought into town from their exchange assignments across the states, sporting regimental cummerbunds (plus the occasional kilt). Ainsley and I were seated at a 10-person round table with an American colonel and his wife and six random brits, though protocol dictated we be placed opposite each other so we were forced to have conversations with strangers. Which was a hoot for one of us. Every time I could get away from the riveting conversation about the history of British warrant officers and glance over at Ainsley and read her lips, I could tell she was talking about her kids. She also picked up a dinner roll and pointed at the crust, so I could tell she was talking about what color our dogs are.
Unfortunately, the dinner stretched on so long, we decided to split a little after 10, before the keynote speeches had even begun, to go snag our children from Ainsley's friend. Erin had been her usual wakin-up-cryin self, and Ryan hadn't even bothered to go to sleep; yet he still wanted to read a book when he got to his room. Got a chance to teach Ryan the term "11pm".