My cousin Dawn got me a wonderful Christmas present this year – a “Five Lines-A-Day” diary that has enough space to write in it for five years. Couple that with the QFQA New Years’ Resolutions list that went up on the refrigerator this week, and I’m feeling a little bit of pressure to start changin’ everything up, declare that 2015 will be THE YEAR that I start reading more, writing more, relaxing more, blah blah blah blah.
On January 1st I will be thirty-eight years old. Currently sporting no makeup, braids, jeans and a sweater, I feel like a war-wounded teenager. Oh, and there’s a baby sleeping on my chest, because that’s where he would sleep today – either on me, or on Dad. He screamed for the entire duration of an afternoon grocery outing except for the twenty minutes I spent nursing him in the car. My older daughter is upstairs, sick for the second time in a month, this time sporting a 102+ fever, the same effin’ cough, bright eyes, red lips, and no appetite. My younger daughter has wet her pants for maybe the third time today, and my older son has spent the day sprawled on his bed, earbuds in his ears, emerging occasionally to make demands (“food” “snack” “dry-erase markers” “URRRGH”).
It has not been a great day.
I have little reason to believe that 2015 will miraculously become “MY YEAR” simply by filling out a list of public declarations, all repeats from previous years. I’ve been staring at that sheet on the fridge, resenting it. In the past my New Year’s resolutions have involved me trying to lose weight. Guess what? I’m tired of trying to lose weight. I just had a baby, for crying out loud (by the way, at this current moment, I’d like to declare that NO ONE is crying. Miracles do happen!), I’m nursing him around the clock, and I am living on chocolate, peanut butter and caffeine to make it through each day. I don’t want to lose weight, I just want to survive. Yet at the same time I remember that last winter, my pants didn’t fit this tight, and I was running four miles several times a week, and when you are training to run a half-marathon, there is no TRYING to lose weight. It just happens.
For once, I would love to welcome the advent of a new year without thinking that my body weight will have any bearing whatsoever on my level of happiness for that year, whether those thoughts are conscious or not.
Right now that resolution list is still blank under my name, but in my mind, and now on my blog, a few ideas are taking shape. I would like to write in that “Five Lines A Day” book every night before I go to sleep, even if it’s just the word “URRRGH.” I want to run the Rochester Half-Marathon in September again, which will require a regular commitment to running several times a week, and increasing the length of my runs. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again. And even though I can argue that when I’m staring at my phone screen, I’m often looking up recipes or reading news articles, I’d like to spend more time reading an ACTUAL BOOK (or better yet, stay current on those New Yorker magazines that like to pile up, dogeared, on my bedside table) than my phone.
That could be easier said than done, however. I recently started delving full-speed ahead into Pinterest.
2014 – Nailed it!