It was New Year’s Eve, but the house was still dressed up for Christmas; the decorations never came down until sometime in January. Dad always insisted that Christmas wasn’t over at midnight on December 25th, and that there were the Twelve Days of Christmas and all that. I didn’t mind.
From the floor of the living room I could see the faint, orange-tinted glow of the Christmas lights still on the bushes just outside the picture window. Every year Mom would challenge those evergreens with strands of lights, wrestling with the needles until they held the bulbs just right. It was one of my favorite decorations, and I would often stand in front of the window and count the lights. Each one had just enough warmth to create a little divot in the surrounding snow.
On the television, Dick Clark stood in front of thousands of people in New York City, all crowded together, smiling and waving at the camera with red noses and mitten-covered hands. “We’re less than two hours away from the descent of our Times Square ball, the signal to the start of a brand-new year!” The camera cut to a shot of the glittering, lighted ball suspended high up in the air, awaiting it’s big moment.
The number of times I had seen the calendar change years was no more than I could count on my fingers. I wasn’t an expert on the holiday, but I could feel and hear the anticipation through the TV. Although I didn’t really understand the significance behind why everyone wanted to stay awake until midnight, I nevertheless wanted to be a part of it.
Behind me, the floor creaked as Mom came into the living room. She was wearing the flannel pajamas my siblings and I had gotten her for Christmas only a week before. She was ready for bed, and was no doubt there to round me up for bedtime, as well.
“Krissy,” she said gently. I glued my eyes to the TV and pretended not to notice her. I couldn’t turn off the TV yet! The ball hadn’t come down. It wasn’t the New Year!
“Krissy,” Mom repeated. She took a step farther into the room. I prepared to muster up my most pathetic whine about the unfairness of bedtime, then follow up with how I wasn’t even tired. It was New Year’s Eve! I waited for Mom’s voice to become more stern and tell me to turn the TV off and go brush my teeth. When she did, I planned to passively protest bedtime by wetting my toothbrush in the running water to make it look as though I had done my brushing.
Mom hadn’t budged from the doorway. She waited silently, one hand on her hip. As I leaned forward to turn the silver knob on the front of the TV cabinet, she spoke again.
“Do you want to go to bed now, or do you want to stay up until midnight?”
My hand froze on the channel selector and I turned to look at her. My eyes must have widened, because she smiled and chuckled quietly. “So, you want to stay up?”
In celebration, I sprung from the floor to give her a hug. I could feel the soft flannel of her pajamas against my cheek when I wrapped my arms around her and pressed in close. I couldn’t believe she was letting me stay up so late!
Mom wrapped her arms around me, encircling me in our hug.
“I love you, sweet pea.”