My Not-So-Rockin' New Year’s Eve

My Not-So-Rockin’ New Year’s Eve

Last updated on November 7th, 2023 at 10:44 pm

“What is all this hot water on the kitchen floor?” my 8 year old asked me with a perplexed look in his eye. I turn and take a step back and land my foot right in it. Let me see, I have twin 2-year-olds running loose as I ready their nighttime bath, so it’s either bath water or pee… It’s pee. Of course it is. Off with the water, and I spring into action to do a speedy clean up, because the twins are still running loose. Naked and running loose. You know what this reminds me of? New Year’s Eve. My loathing of New Year’s Eve.

Surprisingly, it’s not the running naked part that sparks these memories. It’s the urine part. Yes, the last time I had the pleasure of standing in someone else’s urine was about twenty years ago on New Year’s Eve in Times Square. Actually, it wasn’t just one someone, but the collective urine of a freezing crowd that had been standing in the frigid weather for hours waiting for the ball to drop. My college friends had convinced me that it would be amazingly fun to see the ball drop. You have to experience life, check things off your adventure list, live in the moment, they said. It’s Dick Clark’s New Year’s Rockin’ Eve! I begrudgingly agreed, and I say begrudgingly because this jaunt included two of my least favorite things: waiting and standing in the cold. Now I had to add standing in pee to my list.

What Dick Clark and all the revelers don’t disclose about New Year’s Eve in Times Square, is that in order to get a coveted spot to see the ball drop, you have to get there hours before and stand within barricades with no access to food, water or bathrooms. You can’t get out until after midnight or unless there is an emergency. So what do people do? Wear adult diapers, or pee in the street. So there I am, bright eyed and awaiting the promise of a New Year while my poor Doc Martens are stitches deep in rivulets of pee. To say it was a nightmare is being kind. Aside from the stench and the icy cold numbing my fingers, ears, and toes, was the pulse of a crowd of thousands of strangers, pushing and pulling us every which way. As midnight approached, it became clear that these drunken New Year’s Eve lovers would just plant their sloppy kisses wherever they would land. It was like being trapped on a bad blind date times infinity, and the countdown of the clock was like the ticking time bomb of the goodnight kiss at the door you’d try anything to avoid.

When midnight arrived, the noise was deafening and not in a “this music is awesome way” but in the “I think my eardrum is punctured” way. I had lost one of my friends in the crowd as we were pulled apart by a bunch of unattractive frat boys. The rest of us were trying desperately to stay together and move away from the center of the swaying crowd as people were pressed together, body to body. To my horror, people were groping me and vomiting and swirling their ridiculous oversized hats and glasses about. As soon as the police opened the barricades slowly to let people out, I told my friends I was out and high-tailed it back home alone. That in itself took hours as there were throngs of thousands of people whooping it up and having the time of their lives. Not me!

Ever since then, I’ve lost the thrill of New Year’s Eve. The mindless countdowns, the dieting, the overly optimistic view of new beginnings, the resolutions. And standing in the pee! I could never forget it. I joke every year that the only thing worse than making your own New Year’s resolutions is having to listen to people tell me about their New Year’s resolutions that we both know will never come to fruition. There’s always the promise of a perfect New Year’s kiss that never happens. I’ve watched When Harry Met Sally at least fifty times. I haven’t found my Harry, but at least I learned to read the last page of every book I start reading, just in case.

So now I embrace New Year’s Eve it in a different way. I plan something fun for the kids, usually a movie night with some decadent foods. I’ll break out the silly hats and noisemakers. My grandparents used to go old school and bang together pots and pans, which my oldest son gets such a kick out of. Even though I waive their bedtime, they never make it until midnight. One by one they crumple into blissful sleep and I count down the minutes softly. “Happy New Year!” I whisper, “and good night!” then lift them carefully to bed. Damn it — *sniff, sniff* — this one needs a diaper change.

Daniele Parris is a work from home mom to an upbeat seven year old boy and one year old boy-girl twins. She lives in the suburbs of New York City and has degrees in Fine Arts and Philosophy from New York University. She makes her living in the Healthcare industry and spends most of her time with her boisterous Italian family, trying to get a word in edgewise. Her hobbies include cooking and baking, an unholy knowledge of 80’s hair-metal bands and trying, albeit almost always in vain, to guess the monetary value of the items on Antiques Roadshow. In addition to her full time job, she has an online shop Little Bambinos that specializes in fun clothing for twins and multiples.

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