Twelve is Sooo OVER

It was New Year's Eve, but not as we know it, a build-up of dust-cloud coupled with a small sense of de-cluttering achievement, dampened the desire to go out. The novovirus or even just a common cold had laid low many friends. My neighbours, with two pre-school kids, invited me to join them for a drink, no taxi required, a great solution to a little bonhomie and home early to a new dawn.  The neighbouring husband listened earnestly as I told him of my lodger plans, he dispensed some wisdom on tenant contracts, house rules, things to get out of the way immediately like ‘no overnight guests’.

‘Can I really say that?’ I asked. ‘Of course’, he assured me, ‘you’ve got kids living there’. That is true, though I’ve heard enough creaking floorboards to know there are possible nocturnal visitations when girlfriends are staying in the guest room. Never confirmed, but best not to go there.

CC#2 came home that night at 10.30pm, he told me earlier he didn't really like NYE. Strange, I thought for a handsome, social 20 year old, but this boy has become another person. I sometimes say it’s like having brought up one child who transformed into a complete stranger, a delightful one. He had the terrible-twos until he was about sixteen, when he discovered concentration and a singular goal, making the senior cup team. It was only when they were in the final that he remembered his Leaving Cert, four months in advance. And got the results he wanted. Our children become big people overnight without our noticing it. The midnight hour chimed and we hugged a happy wish to each other. There was a strange calm to that moment, the anxiety of what we were about to do, bringing strangers to live in our midst, abated.