Who's idea was it anyway to invent a holiday that involved staying up until midnight?! Clearly, who ever thought up the idea didn't have five young kids. When the clock hits 8:31, it's like working overtime, but without the pay. No gracias. After a stressful day of closely monitoring Ben's oxygen levels and running him into the urgent care when his nebulizer treatments failed to provide any relief, I wasn't feeling much like partying, and neither was Ben:
When he fell asleep in his chair at 5:30, I carried the poor tired boy up to his room. Just as we neared his bedroom door, his eyes peaked open, and he said, "Ryan. Mindy. Pizza. Excited." Tired as we were, we both decided to shake it off and enjoy our family party with Ryan and Mindy.
We partied Mormon-style: the rootbeer was flowing, the noise level hit near-deafening levels (thank-you dollar store noise makers!), fun was had by all in a marshmallow launching competition and nerf-gun fight, wishes for a Happy New Year were made upon the flight of sky lanterns (until the wind created a fire hazard) and toasted with glasses of sparkling cider, and it was called a night by 9:30!
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