New Year’s has never been my holiday. It’s ok, I guess. Maybe I am never quite ready for it. Because it chases so close to Christmas, I am always mildly surprised when it comes. It’s like a guest arriving early when you really need them to arrive late. “Oh! You’re here! Already?”
We don’t have a big tradition for it. I don’t go to fancy parties (hint hint, people). I spent this year’s big event curled up on the couch in my jammies (not even the cute ones) with box wine. And because I was looking at a clock that the boys can reach, at exactly 10:57 I heard the soft roar of the whole city swell up like a wave to celebrate. It was pretty magical. I didn’t want to be out there with them in the cold, but I was glad to be part of the whole business.
Then I immediately went to bed, where the man of my dreams had already been asleep for three hours.
I am always kind of surprised on New Year’s Day, when I wake up in the same apartment, with the same mess. I guess I kind of expect everything to be all new and different. (I also expect this when there’s a new mayor, with similar results.) But no dice. You see that pile of papers on my dresser, 2015? Go ahead, impress a girl.
And then it’s January and I’m sort of relieved to pack away the Christmas decorations (relatedly, you guys should see all the extra space we have now!!) and I’m also relieved not to spend every spare moment furiously knitting squids.
And I prefer Lunar New Year anyway. After all, that’s when I came out as a blogger. So I spend most of January like Janus, with one face looking dazedly back at the old year, wondering what the hell happened and one face peeking from behind the door at the new year that arrived like the early guest.
And I’m not super big on resolutions. I make them sometimes, but usually I keep it small so I can, well, keep them. This year, I ran through a whole list of ideas for resolutions. Here are some from the reject pile:
Stand up straighter. Unlikely to succeed, also: last year’s resolution.
Remember everyone’s birthday and send them a note. Until I can text directly from my brain, cross off “note” and replace with “warm thought.”
Deal with all the random boxes of crap in the bedroom. This is actually a resolution for my husband, who informs me that one cannot make resolutions for other people because it goes against the spirit of the thing, or something like that.
Develop weekly cleaning routines, with different days for different chores. Also unlikely. I don’t think the resolution should make me feel even more inadequate. I have magazines for that.
Do an awesome project–like this! Oh, shut up Pinterest, I do not believe in you!
Put your &$*#ing shoes on, I said! It’s time to go and I told you three times! Again, not a resolution for me. Also, isn’t something you say over and over and over again called a mantra?
Put a little more effort into not looking like I dressed in the dark and then smeared myself with toothpaste. Maybe . . . Hrmm. Sounds like a lot of effort, though.
Move into a bigger apartment. Mom, did you not read what I wrote about resolutions for other people?
Ultimately, I settled on these:
Have a good laugh with the boys, every day.
Hug each boy once a day when they aren’t expecting it.
Wait, haven’t I been doing this anyway? I’m not sure, to be honest, and that’s kind of scary.
I’m not sure the boys will get much out of my new lazy mom’s resolution, but I will.
They can make their own resolutions.