This morning, my husband and I took the kids to the Family Museum a few towns over, in a blatant effort to wear them out so they wouldn’t be able to stay up until midnight, so we wouldn’t have to.
Our strategy clearly isn’t going to work,* but it was a good time.
Exhibit A, with a huge, gappy grin:
With the regular stuff that makes family museums a blast were crafts, a live band, dancing, and a Count Down a few seconds before noon.
A lot of confetti.
Then we had lunch, a quick trip to the store t pick up nibblies for our annual New Year’s Eve Snackdinner, which we usually have while arguing over and eventually watching classic movies and/or ancient television shows on DVD.
This year, the options I schlepped home from the library are My Favorite Martian, the first season of Mary Tyler Moore, the first season of The Number One Ladies’ Detective Agency-—for my MIL—the tenth season of Murder, She Wrote,the only season of Briscoe County, Jr.—that one’s for me—and a couple of Charlie Chaplain collections, because the Marx Brothers shelf was bare.
As usual, we went with organic noisemakers this year, who won’t have any problems staying up to see the
Mommy** ball drop.
Should be fun!
Have a Happy and Safe New Year’s Eve!
* The reason this is so late is that I took an After-Noon Year’s nap, so I had half a chance of keeping up, and maybe a chance of rustling up a New Year’s Post, which may or may not include poetry . . .