As the clock struck midnight on this, the most promising of years, the world is filled with more exploration, less guilt, more naps, less procrastinating, more chocolate, less sugar… more and less have never meant more or less.
Yet, after all the fireworks, kisses, and laughter, I woke and had to fill the dishwasher.
My husband, the long time loyal reader of this column, would probably like me to add there is at least two loads of laundry waiting downstairs for him.
Happy New Year, from our family chores to yours.
allowed, let, awe, heck it was a last minute science experiment to have the girls stay up and greet 2017. In the past, we’ve tried to wake them in time for the ball drop in New York, but they’re hard to rouse, and the reality is some years, we were so tired, the saying: let sleeping dogs lie was the one we honoured…what would happen if they didn’t go back to sleep after singing Auld Lang Syne?
This year, though, at 9, 7 and 5, the girls said they were ready… and we believed them.
So, throwing caution for what January 1st at 5pm might look like to the wind, the girls showered, found their spots in the living room, and patiently waited for me to find something suitable on TV. Miss Q observed, “We need to get more late night kid friendly channels.”
Even with the trappings of blankets, and pillows, the girls’ eyes stayed open as they watched episodes of Little House on the Prairie. My husband
purposefully fell asleep. Yes, we know how to party.
I broke out the tea and chocolate around 9:30. Miss Q continued dispensing her almost 10-year-old wisdom, “This is the best night ever because I’m wearing my new warm and cozy pajamas. I’m lying on a soft couch under a warm blanket, in a living room with the heat on.”
Mama Bear’s updated New Year’s resolution: more listening to how her cubs see their worlds.
My husband woke at 11 – in time to watch what he proclaims is my New Year’s tradition: the flipping back and forth between the channels as I try to soak in all the New Year’s happenings.
With the lights off, we watched Rick Mercer “live” from Ottawa ring in Canada’s 150th birthday year. Flashlights and the glow of the Christmas tree illuminated our living room as I swooped in on the loves of my life, to dole out midnight smooches.
At 12:01 Miss S revealed the answer to the age-old math question:
over tired + sugar + seven-year-old = ??
At one point she was standing on a footstool in the middle of our living room, dancing with her flashlight to Lionel Richie’s Dancing on the Ceiling; a moment punctuated by the fact she was wearing only a toque and monkey nightgown.
After generous offers of, “You can go to bed if you want,” Miss C was all too eager to hit the hay. New Years for her was anticlimactic, but she was glad to be present and accounted for.
We woke in Victoria, this first day of January 2017, to a dusting of snow. Most days, most every snow day, the first flakes are greeted with clanging and banging of pots and pans, kids shouting for joy, and the local radio announcer warning of icy road conditions.
This snowy day our house was silent. All was calm, and our futures so very bright.