New Year's Eve

 Come on, admit it -- did you ever really love New Year's Eve? Crazy parties when you were young, dragged out evenings when your eyes say "sleep" and your head says "stay up!" when you're older. Did you like saying good bye to a good year? Didn't you worry just a little that some of the goodness will slip away? I mean, was there a promise that a new year would be better? For so many of us, keeping things basically the same was a worthy goal. Resolve not to change everything, to move stuff around, but to keep things stable and peaceful!

[Today, Snowdrop, who will turn six next week, said -- I don't want to be six. I like being five! I hear you, little one! I hear you.]

But that was all in the past. This year, most anyone I know looks back on 2020 as the worst year ever and hopes for anything but a continuation of the same.

And of course, I do too. I want the pandemic to wither and wane and be gone, or at least be done with its devastating destruction. I want the chaos on the political arena to be done forever! I want a healthy, peaceful new year for us all, with lots of family and friends in the mix. Hugs easily given, children cuddled, visits scheduled. In other words, I want you and me to live with hope and newfound wisdom and love.

But I do not discard all that happened in 2020 and neither should you. My list of happy moments will be different from yours, but most of us (not all, but most) will have had at least a few reasons to smile as we sift and sort through all that has happened in the past year. 

Still, New Year's Eve is a little melancholy -- this year, last year, every year -- don't you think? I mean, I'll probably crack some bubbly tonight and make Ed take a sip, but giddy playfulness? Not on the cusp of a flip of a calendar page. 

[Ed tells me the same thing I told Snowdrop: it is just a flip of a calendar page. Nothing more than that.]

We were promised a sunny day, but I saw not a wisp of sunlight. It's as if 2020 wants to have the final word: there shall be no glorious sunshine on the last day of my watch! Still, everyone's mood is upbeat. We dare hope for a happy new year for us all!

Breakfast...

And the kids. They come bursting with play energy.

But they are also good for a snuggle. In this one month, Snowdrop has loved being held again, to grow limp against my shoulder as I rock and walk her. Something like this:

And when we sit down on our beloved orange couch together, I can't help but ask Ed for a photo. Because soon this couch will be empty again.

Kid games: 

Pretend eating...

Pretend hair styling...

 

Drawing...

 

Painting.

 

Like any kid, in any home. Except, no two kids play in an identical fashion. Perhaps what we love so much about little ones is that they always put their very own spin on whatever is presented to them.

 

In the afternoon I take these two home. I have a dinner to prepare and, too, Ed is itching for a quick ski run. I fit it all in. 

(A deer, chatting up one of the cats...)

 

 

 

The young family is with us for the final meal of 2020. And it is wonderful to see the kids and their parents once more, because really, each encounter now is precious. And we know it. 

We cannot have the youngest family with us, but there is Portal! We get to connect with Primrose and her mom and dad, and that's beyond grand.

And here's a thought: I do think that there is some good that's come of this weird schedule for parents who are able to work from home (but who are also struggling with keeping their kids focused on school, even as school is nothing more than a screen shot on a little tablet): the kids have gotten more time with their parents. And this, I think, has buffered all the strangeness that has been thrust upon them this year. I see Snowdrop, Sparrow and Primrose all adoring their moms and dads in new ways, as if they had new insights into the people that are their parents. Lots of time under the same roof may have been stressful, but it hasn't been all bad.

So, bubble away 2020. And let's toast the new year. May it be really really happy for you! A lot of it is beyond our control, but not all of it: we can all do our bit to make this as good as it can be. You and me. All of us.

With love and hope.