One of the reasons I love New Year’s is that I love resolutions. I am a person who resolves to do things. You know the parable of the two sons? A farmer asks his two sons to come help him in the field. One says, “No, sorry, I can’t make it.” But he shows up anyway. The other says, “Yes, Dad! I will be there.” And then he doesn’t show up.
Most of the time, I feel like the latter. “Yes! I resolve to do that thing!” I am a firm believer in the “aim for the moon, land among the stars” approach to resolutions. (Which saying never made sense to me. Shouldn’t it be “aim for the stars, land on the moon”? Is it? Do I have it wrong? I’m googling it.)
For example, when I was in seventh grade I was introduced to the poem “If-“ by Rudyard Kipling. I was subsequently so inspired that I wrote a list of everything I wanted to accomplish before I was old, like, twenty-two. There were, at least, five languages in which I was to be fluent, ten in which I was to be conversational, twenty musical instruments I was to be able to play, and so on. I even had a long list dedicated to traveling with different categories labeled: “countries to live in for a year”, “countries to live in for three months”, and, finally, “countries just to visit”.
Yes, by the time I would be twenty-two I would be the most accomplished person in the world. After all, there are twenty-four hours in a day and three hundred sixty-five days in a year. Why not? So, with this insight into Barbara, you might imagine that my yearly resolutions have a tendency to be grand. And you would be correct, sir.
Then, well, motherhood happened. And if we know one thing about motherhood, we know it has an amazing knack of making things practical. And my New Year’s resolutions have been no exception. Who has time to worry about learning a new language when you owe a small mortgage payment in overdue picture book fines at the library?
In 2012 I resolved to replace every plain white pair of underwear in my drawer with a fun one. Resolved: by the end of the year my underwear drawer was a veritable rainbow.
In 2013 I resolved to not wear any T-shirts out on a daily basis, and I mean, the kind that people with an average amount of fashion-sensitivity reserve for yard work. Resolved: I now have a nice selection of shirts that do not make me look like a Dickens protagonist.
In 2014 I resolved to finish things. I wrote a blog post about it, still undone. I was going to post pictures of all the half-finished projects I have, but I didn’t quite get to that. Obviously, this one is going to take more practice than the year allowed.
This year, in addition to carrying over the “finishing things” goal (cough cough) is a new one. 2015 is going to be the year of …
… wait for it …
NO MORE NURSING TANK TOPS! Woohoo! Say it with me, “No more nursing tank tops in 2015!”
I am done nursing. I may never nurse again. It happened quite by accident and all of a sudden as the baby and I both simply forgot about it after weeks of holiday activities. At any rate, those convenient little tank tops with the snaps and zero support that have played the role of my undershirts for the last year and a half are going … out the window, the second story window! With a heave and a ho and a mighty throw they’re one practical thing being hurtled out the window!!!
So, dream big, people! And much happy resolving! Aim for the moon and fall among the stars!
(And look up that saying. I’m still not so sure about that.)