“Let’s just stay home for New Year’s. Just us,” I threw out casually to my oldest daughter. Last year, she had a friend over, got tired, and just wanted to go to bed.

“OK,” she agreed without hesitation. I was surprised but secretly relieved.

Around 3pm on New Year’s Eve, our middle daughter, Adi, started asking, “What time does this party get started?”

I began to worry about her expectations for the night. We had purchased a few special snacks, decided on a menu everyone could agree on, and had plenty of board games and movies queued up.

The girls headed to be basement to build with Legos, something that has brought them together since the Thanksgiving Break-giving me hope that maybe they will actually like each other again someday. Arnauld and I prepped dinner.

As I heard the girls chatting downstairs, I kept stopping to listen, to soak them up. It’s not lost on me that the days of them wanting to hang out with us on New Year’s Eve will likely not last forever.

As the girls emerged from the basement, Adi exclaimed, “This is a fun night, right?”

I laughed and told her I hope it would be.

Over the course of the night, I said “yes” as often as I could. Yes to using wine glasses to drink their sparkling drinks. Yes to “one more round of” Flip 7, Telestrations, and Dancing With the Stars. Several times throughout the evening, I paused again, my eyes sometimes filling with tears, just happy to have everyone together-everyone happy.

Who knows what New Year’s Eves of the future will look like. Ringing in 2026 with my kids filling the house with noise (bickering and happiness) and love was better than anything else I could have ever imagined.

Thank you to Ana Valentine Patton and her New Year’s Two Writing Teacher Post: Tiny January: A Simple Plan to Train for SOL. My writing life slipped more in 2025 than it has in recent years, and her post was just what I needed to recommit to Tuesday Slicing. Let the training begin!