Call me an amateur. New Year’s Eve is my favorite holiday. The mandated sparkly attire, the having-a-party-because-it’s-the-requirement, the tossing out of the old and dreaming up new goals and hopes for the future… the mandatory making out at midnight. How can you not love it?
I’ve always L-O-V-E-D New Year’s Eve. Until this past New Year’s Eve.
This recent New Year’s Eve was not about partying, dressing all sparkly or making out at midnight. Oh no my fab friends. This New Year’s Eve was a test: A test of the Emergency-Fabulous-Mom-System.
Hubby and I purposely made no plans on account that he was scheduled to work a very special case that most likely would run late (a kid was being flown in from somewhere halfway across the world for a very intense and serious surgery). So, I’d resolved that it’d be me and my miniature gals for most of the night. No prob. I’ve got fun girls. But this day was test of true fab-momness. Sometime between Kim Kardashian’s love-child announcement and us all almost getting kicked off a fiscal cliff by our own elected officials, my attitude turned sour. Maybe my ‘tude was inspired by the fact that I’d toiled hours (yes, HOURS) on the phone all New Year’s Eve day trying to get my name removed as a secondary user from one of my parents’ credit cards (from when they added me about 15 years ago, while I was in college) because it was affecting my credit report. Add to that a quick 4pm look in the mirror and blatant realization of how awful/haggard I looked (and smelled, mind you) and instant anger about letting the day pass me by without showering. On top of that, I got a most sweet text from an old friend reminiscing what fabulous New Year’s Eves our group of friends (now most with babies) used to have which made me smile, laugh and then cry for years gone by (in that order). Meanwhile my toddler kept whining about watching more My Little Pony. Know what all that added up to? A big, fat, not good attitude. NOT GOOD AT ALL. (Not to mention I was getting more and more ticked off by the minute about my husband still being stuck at work.)
As TV personality Keltie Colleen astutely wrote, and I read ON New Year’s Eve: This was time that I would never get back.
I could be annoyed, or I could fix it. THE CHOICE WAS MINE. I could have a dumpy New Year’s Eve, or I could fix it. The happiness of my New Year’s Eve – and more importantly, my LITTLE GIRLS’ New Years Eve – depended solely on my attitude. THE CHOICE WAS MINE. So I whisked my little gals to the market to fetch some festive last minute appetizers and obnoxious decorations. Mood boosted.
I whipped up a grand display on my kitchen counter while my girls played on the floor — by myself, for myself (although toddler LadyP sampled some of the herbed cheese and promptly spit it out saying “It’s not good.”) We ‘Cheers-d’ anyways. Mood boosted.
I marched over to my closet to change my clothes into something that resembled a New Year’s celebration. Again, by myself and for myself. Daughters looked at me strangely as I sprawled on their bedroom floor in 5-inch sparkly heels to read them stories (while waiting for Hubby to get home). Mood boosted.
We found out how loud noisemakers can actually be. (As you saw in the picture at the very top.) Mood boosted.
Mood was now…. HAPPY. (Huh? Wow.)
Hubby walked in the door close to 9pm to 3 happy ladies yelling “Happy New Year!” at him. We then (all 4 of us) New Year’d it up New York Style (celebrating at 9pmPST/12amEST).
So the next morning (January 1, 2013), when my husband was holed up in his computer room futzing with his websites (as he usually does on weekends), I had a vision of our entire glorious New Year’s Day heading to nowhere in pathetic pajamas. So I decided:
I could waste the first day of the new year, or I could fix it. THE CHOICE WAS MINE. I was making it for all of us. So I fixed it… by pretty much holding my husband hostage and demanding (with a sweet smile) that we all take a little drive.
And two little angels saw their first snow. Happy New Year.
PRECIOUS TIME PASSES QUICKLY. MAKE YOURS CHOICES WISELY. WE SOMETIMES FORGET THAT THEY’RE OURS TO MAKE.
HOW ARE YOU STARTING 2013?