The Morning After

Many years ago, I came up with a New Year’s Eve philosophy that, unlike most of my philosophies, has both worked and lasted. I decided that if I didn’t worry about New Year’s Eve, I would have a good time regardless.

This means that the New Year’s Eve watching TV with a newborn baby and a flu-ridden four year old was no big deal, but it also means that I’ve had a lot of pretty good New Year’s Eves, like the one when my sister and I arrived in Amsterdam on December 30, couldn’t find a place to stay, ended up in a squat with a master chess player we met on the street, and spent New Year’s Eve eating vegan food and oliebollen with his friends (he was out with his girlfriend), and hanging out on the street dodging fireworks (what can I say? we were young…).

S’s career has the potential to be a serious New Year’s Eve drawback, but for years (pre-children years), we had great new Year’s Eve parties where I would make an elegant dinner for a chosen few, and then he and the rest of the restaurant would show up around one and the tequila shots and dancing would begin. Now, however, we’ve reached the getting older/young children stage of life where the demographically appropriate New Year’s Eve activity is dinner at home with other getting older friends and their young children--that’s what my sister and Dawn did last night (not together). But it doesn’t work so well when Daddy has to cook dinner for the people without small children who are heading out to a nice restaurant for their New Year’s Eve dinner.

So I must admit I was a tiny bit worried about this New Year’s Eve, though I still had faith in my philosophy. Then I realized that New Year’s Eve with me, a four year old, and an eight year old had enormous potential for fun (unlike, say, New Year’s Eve with me, a one year old, and a five year old, which had enormous potential for pathetic sitting alone in front of the television, or, even worse, the computer). So we put things into full gear for a New Year’s Feast.

My long-term readers, aware of my project-impaired status, will be shocked to learn that we made sushi. E had apple juice (she was very particular that it be juice, not cider); M had orange soda; I had white wine. We bought three kinds of pink flowers for the table. M chose the tablecloth (a purple sarong left over from my traveling days); E, distraught that M had gotten to choose the tablecloth, chose the plates; E chose the candlesticks; M chose the candles (one blue and one white). We had homemade chocolate pudding and whipped cream for dessert (that is, M and I had homemade chocolate pudding and whipped cream; E had a nice bowl of whipped cream). We took lots of silly pictures of our beautiful table and each other.

Then we dressed up (I wore the Vivienne Westwood kilt S got me for my 40^th birthday, M wore her first-day-of-school kilt, E wore a red dress over a flowered skirt, and we were matching and styling--don’t ask how E was matching, just accept it) and went to a party where E was asleep on the couch by 10:15, S arrived at 11, M got to stay up till midnight for the first time ever, partying wildly with her best friend L (at 12:30 they were still out on the street screaming “Happy New Year!” at passing cars), and a happy time was had by all.