Happy New Year! Raccoons ate my Internet

Call it mother's intuition.

Hudson hadn't napped all day, so when his grandmother came to pick him up for a New Year's Eve sleepover I just knew that my little boy, in the throes of an overtired tantrum (wailing, flailing and punching), would be back to "help" us celebrate the occasion later that same evening.

"We should just put him to bed now," I said to Ted and his mother. "This is not going to go well."

My caution met polite stares while the two of them eagerly stuffed the kid into his jacket, so I turned my thoughts to the tasty lobsters clawing through a plastic bag in the fridge. Hey, I could be wrong, right? 

Ted and I decided to ring in 2012 "alone" (despite friends' and relatives' pity invites) even though it gave me the distinct feeling it would bring me ever closer to becoming my parents. 

"We're gonna get trashed tonight! Weeeeoooo!" Ted shrieked when only me, him and Scarlett remained in the house. 

"Ya know," he said, his mood swinging from crazed-university-student to fatherly reflection as he stood quietly for a moment under the light in our front hall, which illuminated the caked spit-up on his shoulder and three day-old dad stubble creeping up his cheeks.

"I think I might be able to stay up until midnight."

"Hmmm," I said. An interesting thought.

By 8:30 p.m., (after several failed attempts to get Scarlett to sleep and a quick trip to the liquor store - I forgot to buy alcohol. What? I'm tired. Sue me) the three of us were pooped. We finished eating the lobsters on the kitchen floor near Scarlett's play-mat because she refused to sit placidly in a bouncy chair at the foot of the table.

Each time one of us put a glass of wine to our lips she balled (it must be her selfish instinct at work.. she knows intuitively that drinking could lead to a younger sibling...). 

I was just about to finish my first half glass of white when the phone rang. 

"We have to get Hudson," Ted said when he hung up. 

Obviously. 

"I'll go," Ted said. 

"No,'" I said. "Don't be silly. I'll go. Besides, you've been drinking."

"I've had one beer," he said. "You're drunk."

"I wish," I said. "I'll go. I sort of want to get out of the house."

I leapt up, grabbed the keys, and, like my parents did many many times when I was young, left the house to retrieve my kid in sweatpants. 

Isn't there some saying about self fulfilling prophecies or foreshadowing or being able to tell the future? Whatever. At any rate, Hudson was home by 9:30 p.m. and we were all fast asleep by 10 p.m.

Happy (very belated) New Year!

P.S. I've been offline for so long because Raccoons ate my internet. I am not joking. The critters stole into my home like drunken bandits and chewed through all the wires, scrambling signals and making our lives annoying and technology-less for three weeks. 

 

 

Comments

[kate]

Hi, I'm enjoying your blog. Just thought I'd mention, I'm pretty sure Scarlett must have 'bawled', not 'balled', which is 1950's slang for, er, something (see 'good golly Miss Molly'). Thanks for writing, I can surely relate to your experiences as a mum.