Happy New Year

                           
It's 2016. I was thinking about that today. It was 1996 TWENTY years ago. That doesn't seem possible. I think 1996 was the best year ever. It was epic. Now it's 2016. Another year, in the books.

We ushered in the New Year with 13 little girls. I let both of the kids have friends over and we had a little party. It was so funny when everyone showed up because all the 6th graders and 4th graders were in the same room and the 11 year olds looked like teenagers and the 9 year old still like tiny little girls. It was so impossible to believe that there was only 2 years between them.

I orchestrated a scavenger hunt for them to find their party hats, noise makers. We did fireworks and sparklers. We had a selfie station. We played truth or dare and the saran wrap ball game that has been making it's way around social media. So fun.

We have a tradition that we write down all the things that we want to leave behind in the new year and we place it in an envelope and burn it before midnight. The little girls did theirs early in the night and I sat down with the older girls and did mine. I sat down at the table with my paper and markers and pondered all the things I wanted to leave behind.

One of the little girls sitting next to me said, "You look like you are 18, Mrs. B." I don't know what prompted that but I wanted to kiss this kid. I was like:
      
My daughter rolled her eyes at me. I returned to the task at hand. I wanted to leave behind procrastination, 8 pounds, not taking care of my appearance, and being grumpy. I scribbled them down on my paper.

The older girls, wrote down things like, "Bad grades, boys, bad attitude (one can only hope), bad hair days." One of the girls looked up and said, "Can I write down puberty?" I laughed and then felt a little sad. "Sure, but you still get to have your period for 40 years." They giggled. I didn't think it was funny.

             
They started chatting about turning 12, but not in a good way. "Ugggh. We're all going to be 12." Like, being 12 is horrible. "I think being 12 is the best!" I said. They looked at me skeptically. "Really?!?!" I thought back for a minute. "Yes! When I was 12 I finally felt like I was alive. I felt like I was old enough to understand life, but still be a kid. I didn't have any bills or responsibilities. It was amazing." I was 12 in 1996, that's why I think it's the best year.

Twelve is a formative year. It's the last year of childhood. After that you're a sh***y teenager, and then you have to "adult." Boo.

We stuffed all the things we were going to leave behind in 2015 and watched as the fire consumed them. It was a relief, almost.

As the clock approached midnight we popped open the sparkling grape juice and poured them into tiny wine glasses and handed them to the girls. We gathered in the living room and counted down to midnight. We toasted each other and then went to the kitchen to grab the pots and pan.

That is MY tradition from childhood. All thirteen girls ran up and down the sidewalk banging our pots and pans and screaming "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" I joined in the fun. My husband stood on the front porch like:

                         
He didn't bang pots and pans growing up. According to him, it's a "white people" thing.
                                
We sent the girls to bed at 12:30 and then I went to bed. I was rudely awoken at 4 am. These A-holes were still awake. Oh.My.God. I got up and yelled at all of them and then went back to bed.

I expected them to sleep in but the younger girls got up at 8 am. That was special. We spent New Years Day napping and lounging around. I think 2016 is going to be amazing. Probably not as amazing as 1996, but it will be close.