New Year's Eve was noise-makers and confetti poppers and funny hats and balloons with little notes stuffed inside them. Mr. Rosenberg and I hung out with Bob and Bob's friend Adam and Adam's five year-old sister, Ava. There was pizza and ice cream and an especially terrific dance to the B52s "Rock Lobster." We ushered in the new year at the stroke of ten and went to bed. Then, it was suddenly 12:30am. That's when the puking began.
Bob was sick. He was sick every twenty minutes from 12:30am to 6:30am. As my friend Jennifer pointed out, it was definitely, "Out with the old." There was no more sleeping.
We had made some plans for New Year's Day. Instead of making those plans happen, we were forced to take it easy, watch the parade, eat dry toast, and nap. The bad tummy situation was over by noon. It was a pause between the old year and the new one. By dinner time, the laundry had been done and Mr. Rosenberg and I were eating the take-out Thai food. Bob stuck to toast. He was on the mend.
Some say that how you spend the first day of the new year is a forecast of how that year will be. If 2015 ends up being the year of family togetherness, forced relaxation, and Thai food, I'm okay with that. The barfing part we can live without though, thanks.
2015. Let's do this.