Happy New Year!

out with 2012, in with 2013

You ever have a time when you intend for something to be great and it just isn't?  You plan and get excited and pumped up for it.  It finally happens and it’s just so-so, or maybe even down right miserable?  That was our New Years Eve.

We had planned a night out on the town, the way we used to.  One last hurrah before we trade it in to stay in with little ones and toast with sparkling cider.  Out to the club drinks and dancing with friends.  And because the Germans do it all night, we decided so would we.  Boy did we.

It started out fine; some friends came over and we shared some drinks at our house.  When it was time to get a cab everyone was taking more than an hour, we were lucky enough to have a friend take us to the bahnhof and we caught the next train to Nuremberg.  We all walked to a club call WON just in time for the countdown.  We cheered and danced and had a great time.
That sounds fine right?  Well, some where in there I became drunk… really drunk.  I don’t even know how I became SO drunk SO quickly; I’ve become quite good at pacing myself.  At some point Cody asked if I was ready to leave… I think.  I have vague memories of stumbling along in pumps down cobblestone paths clinging to Cody and his sweet, sweet friend who helped with my husband’s burden.

I remember finally getting back to the bahnhof and eating a cheese burger while we waited on the train.  When we got back to Vilseck it was very cold, very early and there were no cabs.  When we did catch a ride in a cab, it was with a single solider and the strange he was bringing home that night (ew). I threw off my clothes pulled off my fake lashes and threw on a t-shirt.  As I crawled into bed the clock said it was 7:30 in the morning!
All I could think was “How do these single soldiers DO this every weekend?”  The was a time that I would have crowed about what a blast my night was after this very same thing.  A time I would have looked back on it and laughed at the drunken follies.  All I could do was wince at my busted and blistered feet and think “never again”.  I just don’t enjoy the club thing like I used to.  And when I think back on it, the past few years, I’ve much more enjoyed having a drink where conversation can be held.  Laughing and joking and exchanging stories. 
Perhaps this is some stage of adult hood that I passed through and didn’t notice.  I went from clubbing 20something to mingling adult so seamlessly, I forgot to take note!  And here I was; the 30 year old, living it up like I was 21.  My feet are not the same feet they were at 21, in fact NOTHING on my body feels the same!  My back, feet and ankles still hurt after three days of recovery. 

Nonetheless, I’m glad we did it.  My mother always advised me to be selfish before I had children.  To do the things I wanted to do so that when the time came, It would be easy to put what I wanted aside.  I haven’t always heeded my mother’s advice but I’m glad I did on this one.  I feel ready to trade in that party-night-out for a quiet night in with little ones struggling to stay awake until midnight.  I much prefer the “boring old married” thing to dancing, drinking and trying to meet someone.  I’m ready to not be so selfish.

Granted, I’m sure that at some point I will miss my young partying self, and wish for that again, but hopefully I’ll then remember the days of prolonged pain that follow and settle for simply reminiscing.