This evening, I’m pulling down all the Christmas decorations. Our baby Christmas tree will be casually folded then cheerfully shoved until it (mostly) fits in the box it came in. The decorations will be jiggled carefully into their special container, the cards decking our windows put in the recycling bin, and the last of the tinsel will be swept up and away. At my place tonight, Christmas will be over, and we’ll be getting ready for “the next big thing”.
The big event is fast approaching, bringing much noise, chaos and dancing (and unheard pleas for quiet) – the long awaited, much anticipated celebration, which happens to be my baby’s tenth birthday. I’m not excited about it at all.
Sure, I have some presents for my son (as yet unwrapped), and he’s picked out the cake we’re having (cupcakes, in the shape of a ten, in two different flavours) and while I crushed his dreams of three eight-course meals during the big day (menu thoughtfully provided a week ago) he gets to choose what we’ll have for dinner, so he’s still happy. I’m just finding it a little difficult to accept and adjust to the fact that my baby is turning ten.
And that this time next year, he’ll be eleven. And that in five years’ (four Christmases, fifteen birthdays, one [please God?!] completed university degree and a whole lot of desserts) time, my eldest son will be old enough to go on a mission and in doing so miss my fortieth birthday party (which, considering the next five years, may include straight-jackets as party favours – wanna come?)
He-Who’s-Nearly-Ten whirled up to me recently and said “You know, now I’m turning ten, I can definitely stay up all night until midnight for New Year’s Eve. What are your New Year’s resolutions?” I considered his question, pulling him in for a hug. “You know,” I told him “I’m not sure I’m going to have any.”
He pulled his head back, saying “Whaaaa-? But why not?”
“Not sure. I haven’t thought of any.”
“Ha! You’re funny, Mum” he laughed then spun off to another tangent.
As it is, every time I think of New Year’s Resolutions I think of a quote by Neil Gaiman, one that I have read to myself at New Year’s since I don’t know how long:
“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.”
That’s a New Year’s goal, wish and resolution I can fully agree with and aim for, even if I don’t know what I’ll be doing this time next year.
I don’t know what I’ll be doing, but I can hope. Hopefully I’ll be getting ready to pull down the Christmas tree and bake whichever cake is on Mister-Almost-Eleven’s party plan. Maybe thinking about what resolution I should/shouldn’t make (more dessert/less dessert?) for the upcoming New Year. Most of all, I plan that this time next year I’ll be thankful I recognised I (hopefully) have five tiny, fleeting hurtles around the sun left before I kiss my firstborn farewell for two eons, and that I spent the year accordingly. That I wore the year out with laughter and enthusiasm, with love and new memories, and look forward to more of the same.
Which future event is looming on your horizon? Do you make resolutions? What do you hope you are doing this time next year?