The boys in the basement woke up with their own alarm. Sammy and his friends had plans to see “The Hobbit” at 12:15, and despite getting to bed excruciatingly late, they didn’t want to miss the movie.
Six teenagers ate a quick breakfast and got out the door the morning after our almost-annual New Year’s Eve party.
When the kids were much younger, we staged elaborate early ball drops.
Around 9 p.m. we told them it was already midnight on some obscure island in the Atlantic Ocean, then counted down like Dick Clark in Times Square. Dinner happened in shifts: kids ate early, followed by games, crafts and confetti. After the early Happy New Year they changed into pj’s and settled in for a movie while the adults ate a leisurely meal.
This year was much more laid back. Our potluck featured three types of pasta, but no one complained. Adults took their time with dinner; the last thing our kids needed or wanted was our attention.
Before the guests arrived, Sammy had one important question: “What about the ice cream sundae bar?”
Writing It Down 