New Year's Eve….I remember them well. In my 20s, it was an epic whirlwind of chaos, comedy, and questionable life choices, all while wearing 3-inch heels, glittery make-up, and partying until the wee hours of the morning.

Somewhere in my 30s, my husband and I decided that New Year's Eve was a night for the amateurs, and we would, instead of being on the treacherous roads, bring in champagne, close friends, and count down with Dick Clark.

Now, as a calm, rational, and overly experienced grandparent, I’ve survived every New Year’s celebration—fireworks, fancy dinners, and even that one year with the goat—and lived to tell the tale. So, making the wise choice to make New Year's Eve a quiet evening of watching my traditional movie marathon and curling up in bed by 10 pm.