We used to gather around square tables scattered across living room floors, which only hours before were populated primarily by legos. Once a month someone would fix the dinner and we would assemble like moths to a flame excited to catch up on the latest news not shared in the newspaper. Back in the day, before texts and social media, we trusted our husbands with the care of our little ones while we collected to savor the experience of talking to an adult about something other than feeding and napping schedules.

After the plates were cleared, the dice would come out and we would play Bunko. It would not take long before the laughter and hilarity would ensue. We bonded over this low stakes game with easy to remember rules. We found it simple to gather with a purpose and on a schedule. Over time, we collected inside jokes in the same way others collected recipes.

Although the rules were simple enough to remember, gathering became more complicated as our families expanded. Our children grew, friends moved away, schedules changed. Finding a sub became harder and harder, especially when it involved making real phone calls and waiting for someone to check their answering machine. Some nights we couldn’t motivate ourselves to even pull out the Bunko box and chose instead to eat and rush home to tend to late-night homework sessions. Life just got in the way and we retired our crowns as Bunko Queens, settling instead for waving at each other in the carpool line.