New Year’s Eve Countdown

Let me tell you something: staying up late is not my thing! Normally, I go to bed at 8 p.m., and trust me, I’ve got that routine locked down. But tonight, tonight was special. Mom and Dad do this every year. They call it “New Year’s Eve,” but I call it “Why Are We Still Awake?!  

Mom and Dad love this “New Year’s Eve” tradition. Every year, we go to the basement to watch it on TV. It's more excitement  than I usually have on a day-to-day basis, but I'm here for it. When they yell “Happy New Year!” at midnight on TV, it’s actually only 11 o’clock where we live in MN. Mom and Dad call it “midnight,” and they think I don’t know. I know.

We do this party in the basement, which is my favorite place in the house. It’s cozy and usually quiet, and it’s where Mom keeps this old bag of party stuff that we have been using for 50 years. (Yes, 50, I’m not the only one who loves routine)!  The bag has hats, my rattle, and those awful, horrible party horns.   I mean HORRIBLE!  They are SO LOUD! 

The second Mom pulled out the horns, I knew!  She picked one up, put it in her mouth, and blew. “PHHHHHHTTT!” It was loud. It was obnoxious. It was the worst. I covered my ears and gave her a look that said, “Really, Mom? We’re doing this again?” She laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world, which made me even more annoyed.

Don’t worry—I had a plan. I marched right up to Mom, grabbed that horn out of her mouth, and snapped it in half. That’s right, I broke it in two! Then I dropped the pieces on the floor, problem solved.

Mom was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes. Dad was laughing too, which made me a little proud, and they made me start laughing too!

After the horn drama, it was time for the countdown. Dad turned up the TV, and I grabbed my rattle. Now, let me tell you about this rattle. I’ve had it for 53 years. It’s red, it’s shiny, and it makes the best sound when you shake it. It’s my favorite thing, and no New Year’s Eve party is complete without it.

When the people on TV start counting down—“Ten! Nine! Eight!”—I start shaking my rattle as hard as I can. “Seven! Six! Five!” The TV was loud, but I was louder. I didn’t care about the fake midnight; this was my celebration.

When they yelled, “Happy New Year!” Mom clapped, Dad cheered, and I shook my rattle like a champion. Mom gave me a big hug and said, “Happy New Year, Danielle!”  I laughed and waved my rattle in the air.

Then, it hit me: it was late. Way past my bedtime! I was ready to call it a night. Here’s the thing about my bedtime: it’s sacred. There’s a routine, and you do not mess with the routine, unless it’s on a special night like New Years Eve!