Okay, so Happy 2015, everyone. I hope you had a hangover-free January 1st… I had a kid-friendly celebration on New York Eastern time with the neighbors, packed it in by 11:15 and was sleeping soundly when the real Central-time guitar dropped in Nashville, even though I am 375 miles away.
As “that time for resolutions” has rolled around again, I sincerely hate discussing all my promises to myself that “this is gonna be the year.” I am a liar. I can lie to my children without batting an eye:
“What? You didn’t hear mommy tell you 300 times that matchbox cars don’t go in the toilet, and when you’re caught with said cars submerged, flushing isn’t the answer? Well, mommy sends Santa a monthly report, and this is going in it. You don’t listen!!”
Yep. I’m fine with that. And yep, it’s only January, but who’s counting? Me. And just so we’re clear and equitable, in the past I’ve been perfectly happy to lie to myself as well. “You can do this, Carrie! Many parents make it through potty training and teething without alcohol. Go for it!”
As I look back over the sordid history of my clichéd resolutions to lose weight, exercise, blah, blah, blah… (2005’s was “It’s been long enough. Get engaged or dump Jeff”…charming, eh?), I realized that, though I’m a fairly decent person/wife/mother/friend/Christian/etc., I am batting a whopping .000 for resolving to do things I actually needed to actively change about myself. I haven’t lost weight. I exercise, but it’s not like I’m burning up my Jazzercise classes. I read, but most of it isn’t good for me…after teaching classics for so many years, I just want a ditzy blonde to solve a mystery already.
Anyway, when it comes to resolutions, I expect to fail. I have even ceased to feel bad about it. So now, I’m making anti-resolutions so that, when I inevitably fail, it will be good for me. Here they are:
- Gain at least 50 pounds, preferably 75. The world is full of good food, so why should I deny myself ever?
- Never ever exercise. I hate sweating. That 6-minute drive to the gym isn’t doing it for me.
- Make sure that the house is an utter pig-sty (conveniently, my husband already believes that it is). So, wait til he sees me now! Look out! A dust bunny just flew by your head! Move the laundry so you can sit in the living room. Oh, I know the sink is full of dirty dishes…just put them on the counter if you can find a spot.
- If possible, employ even more sarcasm and yelling into parenting my three children.
- Allow the kids to go with their own personal hygiene choices: bathing, brushing teeth and hair…you know…just let them do their thing.
- Spend at least 6 continuous hours per day on Facebook or similar social media.
- Gossip more.
- Spend way more money on my wardrobe and personal grooming. If it’s on sale, I ain’t buyin’ it.
- Actively attempt to start arguments with my spouse because it’s just been too long since we last yelled at each other. Bonus points if it’s in front of the kiddos!
- Speed through school zones. Heck, everyone else here does, so I should give it a go, right? Extra points for hitting (or at least scaring) a kid wearing headphones!
Okay, so now that I’ve clearly laid out plans to become an utterly horrible person, I can fail miserably and face January of 2016 knowing that I’m keeping life between the navigational beacons. Thanks for reading, everyone! And please feel free to add any anti-resolutions (yelling at Girl Scouts selling cookies, anyone?) in the comments below!