I told you a bit about our New Year's Eve exploits, right?
No? But you saw some of the pictures, right?
Perhaps I had a little too much of the bubbly ...
Well, better late than never. ...
So we wrangle ourselves an invitation to a bash at Clatter Hall -- the not-so-humble abode of some dear friends (not so humble now that most of their painstaking renovations are compete) -- and show up with the kids at our usual half-hour earliest.
Annabel could not contain her glee at the idea of staying up until midnight to ring in the new year, despite the fact that she understands neither concept.
After our coats are hung and our offerings of cheese, crackers and bottles of champaign, procured at the last possible minute, are abandoned on the kitchen counter we skitter off to the porch, where trays of vegetables and candy confections are spread out on a knee-level table.
Ittybit gathers a fistful of shell peas and runs off to find her friends. And save for a few hot-pink flashes through the living room and back into the porch for more crudite, she is on her own.
Silas, on the other hand, is always at arm's length (except for the moments when he is baby-napped by dozens of infant deprived revelers.
At one point, Annabel found a tradition of her own to try out. With her father's help, the pair burned a champagne cork and proceeded to endear themselves to the guests by asking them if they would like their faces painted.
Oddly enough, 7 out of 10 folks -- including yours truly -- couldn't turn down a preschooler bent on blackening faces.
But I suppose I wasn't the only one surprised by what happened after midnight. ... And I'm not talking about a gaggle of neighborhood carolers who'd apparently got waylaid after Christmas. I'm talking about Annabel's disappointment at having to wear her coat home.
"Wait. I thought it would be spring?"
"No honey, The New Year doesn't change the seasons. It's still winter."