Happy New Year

I was browsing my Facebook feed today and upon seeing all the pics of NYE peeps have posted, I decided that New Year's Eve celebrations generally fall into two categories 1) those who attend a festive gathering, looking lovely and luscious and 2) those who are in bed by 10, looking lovely in their favorite pajamas.
Papa Clarkson and I generally fall into the second category. I am sure if we'd taken a selfie of our celebration you would have surely agreed that we were looking luscious and lovely... and tired... and one of us likely had snot/drool/whatever wiped across our right shoulder. I'm sure we looked incredible.
It had been a long busy day and I was ready for it to come to an end and snuggle with my pillow. E, I, A, and A I love you dearly. You are the treasure of my heart. But one of my favorite times of day is when you are in bed. We have very strict rules about their bedtimes. It is the only way that hubby and I stay sane. After 8PM is OUR TIME. We get to be grown-ups and eat all leftover cookies. And I can eat my cookies without being interrupted with questions like "Can I lick the syrup off the table?" or words like "potty." And yet, even though every follicle of my hair told me to go directly to bed my sense of duty, of obligation kicked in, and continuing in my lifelong quest to never miss out on an opportunity to have fun- I stayed up.
We sat on our bed, ate chocolate and drank 'bubbly' (Sprite mixed with grape juice- so good) and watched some episodes of a TV series we just started. Even in the midst of my tiredness, my staying awake was like a declaration against the drains of parenthood. I put my foot in the sand, I stood my ground, and said "No! This is MY time! I will not let you rob me of it- sleep! You rogue you!" And I slapped sleep in the face. Until like 10. And we wished a happy new year to Dubai.

And then I went to sleep.