Well, it’s that time of year again. I’m making my New Year’s
resolutions. Or at least I will, soon, right after I finish sending
out my Christmas cards. In fact, just the fact that I’m still
mailing out holiday cards seems to inspire a resolution. Like, I
could resolve to start my cards in July, so I make sure they’re
sent out as early as November. Or even better, maybe I should
winnow down my list. After all, how many friends do I really
need?
Well, it’s that time of year again. I’m making my New Year’s resolutions. Or at least I will, soon, right after I finish sending out my Christmas cards. In fact, just the fact that I’m still mailing out holiday cards seems to inspire a resolution. Like, I could resolve to start my cards in July, so I make sure they’re sent out as early as November. Or even better, maybe I should winnow down my list. After all, how many friends do I really need?
It’s crazy, but every year I fall into the same pattern. It’s a new year, a new beginning, and even though I know better, I can’t help resolving to improve the quality of my life. But we all know that resolutions don’t really work. If they did, we’d all be millionaires by mid-March and able to fit into our swimming suits by June, on the Best Dressed List in “People” magazine by September. And, of course, I wouldn’t be working on my Christmas cards.
But every January, I can’t seem to help myself. I wake up on the first of January, eager and determined to get into better shape, and organize my life and – HEY, CAN YOU KIDS COOL IT? I’M TRYING TO WRITE A COLUMN HERE! What was I saying? Oh, yes, and I want to be more patient with my loved ones.
I think the trap that we fall into, though, is the idea that Jan. 1 is some magical day. If I started thinking of every day as a new beginning, maybe I’d be more successful at these resolutions. But instead, I wake up on that Jan. 1, and if I get a bad start, I tend to give up. For instance, waking up with the rest of the family at 10:30 sort of meant that I had failed at my resolutions of waking up earlier and fixing everyone a healthy and hearty breakfast. I suppose if we hadn’t stayed up the previous night, celebrating New Year’s Eve, commenting to the kids on how improved Dick Clark’s health seems these days, and if I hadn’t been finishing off the last of our eggnog, then maybe I would have had a better chance of waking up at dawn.
No matter. I decided to fix the family a hearty and healthy lunch – that is, as soon as I made it to the grocery store to stock up on food. Instead, we finished off some pizza that we had ordered the night before, and as I inhaled more calories than I care to think of, I realized my “eat healthier” resolution was off to a bad start.
I put on my new sweat suit and then went out and jogged a brisk three miles. Well, that was the plan. Actually, I jogged half the block before I realized I should pace myself, and then I slowed down for a walk. But just as I was kicking myself for being out of shape, some little terrier started chasing me for what must have been a fourth of a mile, until I lost the dog and caught a ride home with one of my neighbors. But it was kind of encouraging to know that if I have to run for my life, I still can.
After a nice shower, I tackled my next resolution: organizing the house. But I didn’t get very far. My daughter wanted help with a paper she was supposed to write over the holidays, and my son needed help with a remote-controlled car he received for Christmas. Murphy, our dog, it seems, thought it was some sort of mobile chew toy. And so by the time I finished chasing Murphy down, and removing the toy, and seeing to it that my daughter got going on her paper, monitoring her like one of those ominous overseers in a Medieval galley ship, it was dinner time, and since I still hadn’t gone to the store, I was reduced to serving one of those “cook it in the microwave in less than three minutes” cass-eroles.
Still, by the time the day was over, I realized I had at least been there for my kids, which I wasn’t really intending to put on my list, except for being patient with them. That I’m always trying to be around for my children is just sort of a given, and that that sometimes interferes with my own personal goals is sort of a given, too. And that’s when it occurred to me that maybe my big resolution should simply be more patient not just with my loved ones, but myself.
It sounds good and life-affirming, doesn’t it? Well, don’t be too impressed. I think I just bought myself an extra year to get my New Year’s resolutions in order.
Debbie Farmer is a humorist and a mother holding down the fort in California, and the author of “Don’t Put Lipstick on the Cat.” You can reach her at familydaze@oasisnews
features.com.
