I have an old tradition.
Well, it was my mom's, really...
When it comes time to ring in The New Year, as the clock strikes Twelve, I grab out my trusty yellow broom and sweep The Old Year out of the door. Some years are easily swept out, depending on the preceding calender of chaos. Sometimes I am happy to watch the dust of our Yesteryear fall between the cracks of the front porch steps.
And then, after ceremoniously ushering out our bygone days, I welcome in The Year That Will Be. But just before, for one brief moment, broom in hand, New Year awaiting her welcome, I stand on the cold porch, the children around me banging their pot-lids and spoons,
my bare feet straddling the gap between two years. In that timeless moment, I feel like I was just here, broom in hand, only moments ago. But the faces around me betray the thought. Faces that suddenly look a little leaner, a little longer, a little wiser than last year.
The Year That Leaves looks over her shoulder as she crosses the lawn. She takes with her our April showers, which this year were more like a monsoon. I am not sad to see those clouds fade. She totes away the thrills of May, which taught so much. One by one, she packs away the months into loose pockets and carries them off into memory.
She steps off the curb and nods to The Coming Year,
and I think I see them exchange a smile.
Oh, yes. I know what that smile is.
Last Year brought us something unexpected around about August.
Our family will be growing, and not just taller.
Certainly not richer,
unless you count your wealth in noses.
Last Year's wily grin did not reflect the stress of the past few months, with the waiting and worrying that comes when you are the owner of a fickle uterus, but seemed almost like a smirk. But I have one on her. I saw the look on This Year's face as she stepped onto our front walk, turning her back boldly on Last Year. Her own peaceful expression lit the way ahead, and her smile
as she stepped through my door was genuine and warm.
She assures me;
she is bringing wonderful things with her, This Year.
Our Baby New Year, pondering the mysteries of a still tiny universe.
All parts operational and still under factory warranty.
If you feed them, they will come...
Jensens sippin' cider
Slaughters making our furniture look classy
Ethan and baby Ryan in heaven.
I don't know who was enjoying themselves more, big boy or baby.