Like many other smart people, I gave up on New Year Resolutions a long time ago. As I got older, I began to accept the person I am. I’m not going to get a six pack in 2014 – or ever – because I don’t consider one glass of wine three nights per week suitable for my lifestyle. It is more like three glasses per one night.
I am not going to eat healthier because eating a kale salad for lunch makes me hungry, and being hungry makes me a bitch, which leads to my third failed resolution: be nicer to stupid people.
I’m going to be 40 this year. And, I’m excited about everything I have – our family, the friendships that have spanned many years, my health, and my job. I don’t want to drink less, work out more, eat better or save more money (shhhh….don’t tell Laef).
I want to eat and drink more with these friends and enjoy my life. I do not want to stress about changing anything or doing anything better. I just want to sit back and enjoy the life I have, and the people who are in it. It seems like I’ve spent a lifetime trying to improve upon the things about myself that I considered lacking, and now I want to take a break from that.
After years of coming up short on my resolutions, I realized at some point during my 30s that this is who I am. It’s not perfect, but it’s me. This doesn’t mean I don’t have things about myself that I wish were different, it just means that I’m going to spend more time doing things that I enjoy – writing, socializing, sleeping (ha) and making time for myself (ha).
There will be zero pregnancies or births this year. But since I never follow through with my resolutions, this probably means I will have twins by December. I guess I should add “No Sex” to my ME list for 2014 (shhhh….don’t tell Laef).
We spent the last six months of 2013 in some kind of parenting fog capped by pulling over on the side of Highway 16 in rural northern California on Christmas Day to pin Harper down and put ear drops into her ears to remedy her 78th ear infection of the year – all while listening to Reagan scream in the car because she realized that she had been born into a family that pins children down and leaves other children in the car alone with a Minnie Mouse rattle.
Listening to two screaming children while racing to the airport to fly on an airplane with two screaming children made me realize that I have got to start this year off by setting some new ground rules.
Yes, both girls are still going to get 99.8 percent of our attention. This is a .2 percent decrease from 2012 and 2013. What this basically means is that I will no longer share my expensive lip gloss. I will no longer share my favorite water cup and accept backwash. I will no longer be coaxed out of bed at 4 a.m. by a two and a half year old asking for the iPad. If you don’t have to pee, please stay in your bed.
Let me tell you how many fucks Harper and Reagan gave about the new sleeping rules: ZERO.
Congratulations to Harper who has done a better job of not waking up multiple times during the night to ask me for milk or the iPad or fruit snacks. But because she always wins at everything, she has decided that this is the year that she will wake up at 5:15. Upon hearing that it is still not iPad time, she then screams “iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiPAD” over and over and over like her first boyfriend just ditched her. Listening to a two year old cry a river over an iPad is pure comedy so at this point Laef and I are awake for the day, and of course Reagan wakes up to join in all the fun.
I don’t know if they had a secret baby/toddler meeting in which “Make sure the people in charge are sleep deprived to maximize desired outcomes (i.e. Lollipops at 9 a.m., milk before bed time, back-to-back episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, pajamas to school, use of mascara on a school day, unlimited supply of Band-Aids for non-existent injuries, etc.)” was at the top of the agenda, but they synced up on their early-morning wake up time almost immediately.
The other portion of the .2 percent that I am hoping to change revolves around being able to take a shower – or a shit – by myself. Our apartment is small and has one bathroom. It is bad enough when I am trying to blow dry my hair while Laef hovers over me to shave, but now I have Harper sitting on the toilet telling me about her poop and how it’s “big”.
And forget about sitting on the toilet by myself.
Harper will always come in. And she always wants to be just like mommy and daddy.
“Mommy, do you need me to help you wipe?”
No, sweetie. But talk to me in 50 years. I might have a different answer.
I have sorely missed my morning ME bathroom time over the last year. I would like to take a leisurely shower, shave my legs, put on my bath robe, listen to talk radio, sip my coffee, apply my make up over a 15 minute span rather than a two-minute span, and make my hair look like Gisele’s before emerging.
But as it stands now, it is usually me huddled in one corner with an inch of mirror to use, Harper sitting on the ground eating her cereal (yes, I know), Laef using the remainder of the mirror to analyze how many hairs he still has on his head, Reagan sitting her in lamb seat in the doorway to make sure she doesn’t miss out, and Sanchez licking the drain of the bath tub.
Love every last one of y’all, but is it too much to ask for you to please get the fuck out of the bathroom in 2014? Can we get a sign up sheet? Is it wrong to ask Harper to use her portable potty between the hours of 6:30 – 7:15 a.m.? Can Laef use the portable potty? Can we put a mirror in the kitchen for gazing and shaving purposes?
Since my mission in 2014 is to enjoy all that I have, I guess I will embrace these special family meetings.