I feel like I should stop there and let you write the story. Be sure to include a catchy exposition, some good rising action, an equally engaging climax, etc. and etc. I'll help you out with some story development. How long had we been playing Sorry when Matthew started to cry?
It was my bright idea. I was around Garrett's age (which would have made my brother around Matthew's age) when I first stayed up until midnight. My mom rented movies and I remember Milo & Otis, in particular. I also remember fighting to stay awake on the couch for what seemed like hours before it was finally time to bang a few pots and pans and call it a night.
In the afternoon, I headed out to obtain the necessary food items. Pizza, appetizers, ice cream, sparkling cider, chips and dip. And, because I'm not a complete lunatic, veggies. When I explained to the kids that we weren't really having dinner, exactly, but were, instead, piling our paper plates with calories and plopping down in front of the TV, they were excited (and maybe confused). It's not that we never watch television during dinnertime. It's just rare. And dinner usually doesn't include pizza, mozzarella sticks, chicken wings and chips and dip all on the same night. We almost never chase such a fat fest with ice cream sundaes.
I got a DVD of classic musicals in my stocking. See, Mrs. Claus--who actually does most of the work--saw it at Target and called Santa and said, "Mr. Claus, there's this DVD that I really would like and I'm here now, looking at it, and there's only one left and could it maybe come home with me and make an appearance on Christmas morning?" Santa was then like, "Yeah. Sure. Go for it." That there is the riveting story of how we found ourselves watching Annie Get Your Gun on New Year's Eve. I didn't know if my boys would enjoy it but WHO WAS I KIDDING? Wild west shows, horses, SHOOTING GUNS! Turns out, Annie Get Your Gun is basically their love language.
After that, we spent some time watching football while the boys spent some time speaking their love language to each other by acting out all the scenes in Annie Get Your Gun EXCEPT the love scenes because they are nine and six and kissing is gross. Although, to be fair, my nine year old seemed less disgusted all the sudden and my six year old, who is basically a tiny little Romeo with the ladies, slapped his hands over his eyes and gagged. So we've found ourselves in some sort of alternate universe where my ladies' man is grossed out by love and my older boy tells me he saw a pretty blonde at McDonald's. (Shhh. Do NOT tell him I broke his confidence by sharing that with the three of you.)
After that, we tried to play Sequence. Somehow, the stars aligned and Matthew and I won even though my teammate had little to no strategy for helping me. It took him a decade to decide which card to play and then he got all in a huff when we pointed out that he couldn't play a two of spades on a two of clubs. "Maybe we should stick to games like Sorry for awhile," I suggested.
But it was 10:30 and Matthew was already exhausted and Sorry didn't go quite as swimmingly as I'd imagined. You'd have thought that, with every bump back to start, we were actually removing one of his fingers with a butter knife. If I had a dollar for every time one of us stared the kid down and instructed, "IT'S JUST A GAME!" I'd have a lot of dollars.
When Sorry ended, I made them go upstairs and take a shower. Because, honestly, I was trying to buy some time. We were 45 minutes from the ball dropping and I didn't know if we'd be able to make it. That's when Garrett started to cry. He didn't need a shower. He was tired. Why was I inflicting this horrible punishment upon him? Thankfully, I shot him the Mom Look of Death and threatened bed and he rallied.
At 11:30 I took this picture and posted it to Instagram with the caption, "They're still going strong but oh boy is it ever meltdown city all up in this house. Thirty minutes. WE CAN DO THIS!! Go team!"
We turned on the TV and prepared to watch the ball drop. We popped open the non alcoholic bubbly, made a few toasts, and clinked glasses. Ninety seconds before midnight, I said, "A minute and a half boys!" And Garrett responded with, "And then we all kiss?" Apparently his knowledge of midnight on New Year's has been strictly gained through television. But if the shoe fits...
The clock struck midnight and there were five combinations of kisses shared. The boys refused to kiss each other because THAT, apparently, would certainly bring about the apocalypse. I banged a pot with a wooden spoon, Garrett slammed two pots together, neighbors let off fireworks, and the dog decided to freak out. (Great! We were doing so well with this one. I had high hopes she wouldn't shake like a leaf and hide in the bathtub like her predecessor. She wasn't nearly AS bad as Beck used to be so I'm holding on to a shred of optimism that we can view this as a mere setback, but she's been demonstrating signs of being afraid of the vacuum now too so I might be delusional.)
At 12:15 the children were sound asleep.
Happy New Year and all that jazz! (Wait, wrong musical.)