Hope you had an awesome one, or at least better than mine. A week and a half later, I’m still recovering.
In the rain.
On a cruise ship in the Caribbean.
So back to the New Year’s. My daughter asked us a week or so before the big day whether she could have a couple of her friends over. At the time she was so sweet and so delightful that of course we said yes.
We should have known better.
Within a couple of days, the small gathering of a couple of kids had morphed into a party of 15, then 20, then 25 kids. When faced with the final update, my dear darling husband did what he usually does – he blew a gasket and declared there would be absolutely NO parties at our house on New Year’s! He actually had a point this time, given the fact that our house is for sale and the last time my daughter hosted a party (in our absence after swearing she wouldn’t) she invited seventy yes, 7-0 of her nearest and dearest friends. My daughter, of course did as she does best – she screamed and yelled and declared our house a toxic nightmare.
By the way, I’m so glad that my husband, the Original Obnoxious One, and my daughter, the Demon Child, can work through disagreements in such a calm and loving manner.
In the meantime, my son, the Obnoxious One, but this time the Brilliant One, decided to clear out of Dodge and head for the mountains. He and his girlfriend fled to Whistler for two nights, but not before arguing most loudly and determinedly with the Original Obnoxious One over the price of a room.
So I had my work cut out for me. Big time!
I cajoled and sweet talked the grumpy old Original Obnoxious One into paying a reasonable rate for his son and helped my son wade through numerous options on-line to find a hotel and room rate acceptable to all parties. I’m not even going to mention the operation necessary to book dinner on New Year’s Eve at Whistler, other than to say, it’s over and no one died.
Next, I strong-armed our daughter into making a number of promises regarding the party, such as no smoking inside, no out-of-control teenagers ( an oxymoron I know), no kids upstairs in bedrooms, no unwanted guests, no overnight stragglers, and no damage to anything or anyone.
The Original Obnoxious One reluctantly and against all odds agreed.
When the night arrived, the three of us were tense and edgy, glaring at each other, and biting our tongues. But as the nicely dressed young men and women arrived, my husband and I took a few breaths and acknowledged Satan and his followers were not among the party-goers.
Yet we have learned never to take anything for granted when it comes to The Demon Child.
Like those crazy old-time jack-in-the-boxes, my husband and I took turns popping up and down all evening, all night, and into the wee hours of the morning. Yes, there were some issues- like the weird old boyfriend who showed up out of the blue. Yes, there were some problems – like the girl who had trouble keeping her dinner down. Everyone did survive though and everything was dealt with, one way or another.
But my husband and I were absolutely, positively, extremely exhausted.
And did I mention that he was sick the entire holiday season?! After much nagging he finally went to the doctor, only to have confirmed that he, in fact, had the H1N1 flu and that it had also developed into a chest infection.Boy was he proud! He was almost vindicated for attempting to turn into the oldest, grumpiest sloth of West Vancouver.
So once we set our two dear offspring onto their respective flights, we made a beeline for the sun and seas. I can hardly believe that it’s almost come to an end. I wonder if Turk and Caicos accept New Year’s refugees from crazy cold and rainy climates.