New Years Resolutions

I don’t usually make resolutions. The idea always seemed silly to me, really. Everyone making promises to themselves that they don’t keep, resulting in feelings of failure and depression. Who needs that, right? Why not simply resolve let yourself down, totally disappoint yourself, and wallow in the shame of your own worthlessness and lack of will power? At least that one you can stick to.

Now, I’m sure there are those few who beat the odds each year and actually lose those pounds, or save that money, even a few who accomplish something truly miraculous, such as completely de-clutter their homes and stick to a strict daily ritual of preventing clutter build-up…you know, that “there’s a place for everything and everything is in its place” kind of deal. But, let’s face it. Those people obviously never had a 3yr old who believes you can make snow from a roll of toilet paper if you unroll the entire thing, shred it into tiny fibers and fling it all through the house all in the time it takes mom to grab a cup of milk. After which, of course, as mom straps her baby to her hip via mei tei carrier to prevent a chorus of cries and screams that would result in the neighbors calling in a disturbance complaint to the local authorities, convinced that she is neglecting her poor child. They forget that an infant has a built-in alarm that signals mom needs to do something…anything…besides shower the wee one with attention, and they have nothing better to do while in that $100 baby swing or equally expensive contraption, marketed in ways to appeal to a parent’s desperate clinging to those last few precious fibers of sanity…

”Hey, you! Yes, you…the idiot with the baby…think about how much you could get done while your baby grows smarter by the second as he sits under a $80 light up, musical star with tons dangly brain-developing toys at his fingertips? YOU MUST BUY THIS!”

And of course, she does…delighted to see her infant’s eyes widen as he marvels at the colors and shapes, then she discovers the problem: the darn lights and music shut off after 5 minutes of play, which kept her baby’s gaze as he giggled and cooed at it, batting at those dangly things with the dilated pupils of a feline overdosed on catnip. She hears a whimper, the sound of discontent and realizes it has shut itself off (to conserve batteries, they say…are they MAD? I’ll buy a hundred batteries a week in exchange for 30 minutes to do a real chore, in completion…within a 24 hour period). She curses the developers of this ‘miracle device’ as she sprints toward the sound, bits of Charmin-y snow following her stride. She taps the start button, hoping the frown will fade and the quivering chin and pouting lip will subside, but no matter how much she hopes, or pleads with her child to engage him in the toy’s many wonderful exciting bells and whistles…it’s over. No amount of encouraging will stop the stream of cries and disapproval that follows, until she picks him up. Obviously her child knows this toy is a worthless piece of marketing crap, and, clearly, his mother is a sucker, just like the rest of us. So she straps the child to her midsection and retraces her steps, picking up a billion shreds of ‘snow’ until she reaches the point of origin, at which she finds the cup of milk she gave to her child, empty, the contents now dripping from the mountain of toys he has assembled in the hallway, so that Superman (beneath the pile of superheroes and cars, blocks and puzzle pieces) can use his superpowers to break free from the pile of rubble which threatens to crush him. Why the milk, you ask? Because no mere pile of rubble is a proper challenge for a real superhero! The sky was pouring acid rain while Superman was being buried, of course! (Don’t you KNOW this stuff?) That’s what happens in the mind of a 3yr old when trying to use all resources to create the ultimate challenge. If in his hands had been a bottle of ketchup, she’s sure it would have been emptied atop the pile of rubble, as well, the result of a killer tomato attack or a mucky red mudslide. A bowl of oatmeal would have been super-cement, macaroni (shells of course) would have been slimy snails… all intended to make Superman more powerful and awesome as he defeats his attackers. And don’t forget Elastigirl, who clings desperately to life, in the toilet, awaiting Superman’s arrival to save her from a horrible drowning (and I’ll spare you the details of the flush status of a 3 yr old’s potty). If only that darn Superman would show up when milk and ketchup, oatmeal and macaroni need to be scrubbed from a zillion tiny toy crevices, and Elastigirl needs to be thrown into the decontamination chamber (that would be the garbage can) now THAT would be awesome! The least he could do is get her child a cup of milk, since he’s yelling from the other room that he’s very thirsty. *sigh*

And with that, I am way off track of my original point, which is exactly my point. As easily as you were swept away into my description of a mere 15 minutes of the life of a mom, that’s how easy it is to become distracted and pulled away from one’s goals, and I’m talking daily goals, like bathing herself and brushing her teeth. She can’t exactly tackle a clutter problem, when her pits are becoming hard to distinguish from her husband’s and her hair hasn’t come out of a ponytail for four days, even for brushing. I think to myself, every year…”What’s the point? What is the point of setting myself up to fail by making a bunch of promises to myself that I can’t possibly find the time to keep?” So I make none. It’s a tad depressing, but it’s not nearly as bad as wallowing in the daily misery of feeling worthless and tired, and tired of being so darn worthless and tired.

So this year, I’m trying something new. I’m making just one big resolution…to accomplish nothing. That way I’ll have to be pleasantly surprised when I do, as I’m sure I will occasionally happen upon the evil plan against Superman, BEFORE a mountain of ketchupy mud slides onto it…and perhaps I will figure out a way to lock up the toilet tissue to avoid a freak snowstorm. And, maybe, just maybe…I’ll figure out a way to keep my infant occupied for a whole 20 minutes to get all the dishes done at one time, or vacuum a complete room all at once. Now, those, my friend, to a mother, are REAL accomplishments. And, if not clouded by the depression and sense of failure that comes with not accomplishing the impossible, maybe I’ll actually feel like rejoicing instead of sitting down to eat my 11pm dinner of cocoa pebbles, in shame and disappointment, when both the baby and my 3yr old finally fall asleep. And in that rejoicing, who knows? Maybe I’ll feel optimistic and burn a few calories getting something done, save a buck on a late night bowl of sugar I didn’t need and get rid of that pile of clutter on the kitchen counter…and sleep well, knowing that at least a few things in my house are in the right place.

Happy New Year!