New Year's just isn't quite the same when you're a parent

It's 12:58 a.m. New Year's Day.

Happy freaking New Year! In 2009 I'm going to lose weight and manage my finances better, and blah, blah, blah.

I came to the conclusion years ago that New Year's just isn't the same once you become a parent. Tonight, that conclusion was confirmed.

I really had the best intentions of celebrating New Year's like you're supposed to. We gathered up the fam and headed to our friends' house for the evening, with about 20 other people and 15 other kids. Their pool was heated, alcohol was aplenty and we were ready to party like it's 1999.

We got there about 7:30, and since I was out to have a good old-fashioned shitfaced New Year's, I started drinking right away.

I was more than a little tipsy by 8:00. Literally, 30 minutes later. One wine cooler and I'm off and running, as those of you who hang out with me in real life know.

So I'm off to a good start, and I'm socializing and hobnobbing and having a grand old time like my kids didn't even exist. Except for the fact that every 1.5 seconds, I heard, "Mom, look!" from the pool, because The Hormone King was insistent on showing off his very best dance moves on the diving board.

Around 9:00, I started wondering if it was almost midnight. I was exhausted, and Hubs was exhausted, and it was cold, and WHEN THE HELL DID I GET SO WHINY?

At 9:30, The Dictator started feeling sick. At 9:40, The Dictator started burping and spitting a lot, so we ran to the bathroom, where he hugged The Porcelain God for about 15 minutes while a line formed outside.

From 9:45 to approximately 10:30, I tried everything known to man to calm his stomach, make him happy and stop the horrific whining. We finally ended up on a recliner, under a blanket in my friends' living room, watching an auto auction. Commence checking of watch for time updates.

No, really.

At 10:30, The Dictator started feeling better so he wandered back to the playroom to hang out with the other little humans in the house. I had stopped drinking when he started feeling sick in case I needed to drive home, so that was over too. Yeehaw.

For the next hour and 20 minutes I watched the UFC fight from last weekend, checked my watch another 11 times and tried to prevent Hubs from lapsing into a sleep deprivation coma in the living room. In said hour and 20 minutes, I was visted approximately 14 times by The Dictator, who came in to tell me that the boys weren't sharing, the boys weren't letting him play, the boys weren't listening to him, and how many more crackers can I have before I barf again?

At 11:50, I rolled myself off the sofa and went outside to prepare for the festivities (which really meant securing a good spot by the fire pit so I wouldn't freeze my sufficiently large ass off).

And then...12:00 hit. There were horns and poppers and Dom Perignon and children screaming "Happy New Year!", and all I could think as I looked at the whole shabang was, "Huh. I wonder who's going to clean all this up tomorrow."

Yes, friends, New Year's just isn't quite the same when you're a parent...but I wouldn't have it any other way.