It began 8 (nearly 9) years ago with the birth of my first son Carter. The next 3 years were about chasing sleep, and particularly a period of rest long enough in which to dream--that old, pre-parenting slumber, soft and comforting as a dear friend.

The 4th year was my fault; I was pregnant with twins, and this time, it was me keeping me up, with multiple trips to the bathroom and flopping about trying to find that elusive, comfortable position. Years 5, 6 and 7 belonged to the twins: if they weren't both up, at least one of them was--sometimes, it was all 3 children up at once.

If we lived in Australia, I might watch fireworks from the banks of Sydney Harbour. If we lived in Germany, I might sing "Auld Lang Syne" in Deutsch. If we were in Paris, I'd celebrate le Réveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre. Since we are in the US, I could watch the glittering, crystal ball drop in Times Square.

But really? This year? Sleep sounds so lovely. The thought that both my husband Tom and I might welcome in a new year with a good night's sleep seems almost too good to be true. In fact, just by writing about it, I've probably somehow jinxed it.

Just in case we decide to forgo the early bedtime, how do you celebrate New Year's Eve?

(And in case I miss it, I'll say it here: Happy New Year!)