Happy New Year

In which our Hero laughs and winces at the Christmas cheer

The family party was an odd one this year, even after the closed-for-mourning cancellation last year. This year, a whole bunch of people cancelled and told us they couldn’t make it, and yet during the evening the same folks showed up and had dinner before leaving to their work or home or families or whatever.

In the end, we welcomed the new year with a small, intimate group of family, and it was wonderful. I wonder if there’s a polite way to talk people into leaving early next year?

After running around without sitting for a few hours, I finally sat down after the party and discovered I had aches, and the Babies (my cousins) settled on me while people had coffee and prepared to leave. We just sat together for a while, me leaning back and two pretty girls half-asleep tucked under my arms. My father took a picture of us sitting there, but mainly it’s about the memory of spending quiet time with them. As I post this, the Mouse is off to another place for two months for a rotation, and her little sister is horrified at losing her support system.

The Christmas party was different too, with some unexpected guests including a cousin of Willow’s who has, like me, developed into a middle aged man. He’s still a fast talker and I’m hoping he has some kind of charm with his coworkers but for me, I was unimpressed before our acquaintance lapsed and I am indifferent to correcting that lapse.

But he’s married, and that’s the bigger shocker. Time and responsibility can mature people, so good for him, but equally, “Holy cow, him?!”

Meanwhile, I had the hilariously awkward experience of leaning over my cousin Spaz to hug someone else hello and she unselfconsciously reacted pretty much purring, “You smell delicious.” She got flustered when she remembered who she was referring to and it was awkward, but complimentary awkward.

Lots of the young ones appear to have found people of special interest. I know this because my mother immediately turns to me and asks “What did you think of ______” to which I generally reply with some variation of “I shook his hand. I can confirm he shakes hands. That’s all I know.”

I recognize the patterns, of course. It’s mildly entertaining. It’s also horrifying because suddenly I realize that these little women who have been so attached to me may suddenly be looking for my reaction/approval of their choices and that’s the sort of preemptive nightmare I have faced *any* time I’ve thought about raising kids in general and daughters in particular.

Suddenly I wish I had a shotgun to polish on my lap. Just in case.