Nothing takes the Happy out of New Year like a good old-fashioned resolution. Most of them have something to do with eating less Reese cups and doing more leg lifts. It’s probably not exactly what the Darling children conjured in their minds when Peter Pan asked them to think happy thoughts. If that’s the best they could come up with to make them fly, they would have probably gotten as far off the ground as a Vegan campaign in a deer stand.
It’s not the happiest part of New Year I can think of.
I always thought a resolution should be more character-building and less waist-shrinking – something like saying three nice things to a telemarketer before hanging up, paying for the car behind you at a drive-through once a week and praying they order a kids’ meal, or not calling people who blow their horn at you at a light that just changed, “Mister Toenail Breath” – at least until you get past the intersection.
Or else they should be about organizational and maintenance skills – you know, like this year, I’m going to buy a new pack of toilet paper before we get to the last roll. I’m going to truly descale the Keurig (which I didn't even know had scales) once every six months. I’m going to mop the kitchen every day. Well, every other day. Okay, once in months that start with F.
Truth be told, all these are too ambitious. We can’t make it past Thursday, much less through twelve months of it. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m not going to focus on the things I will never accomplish. I’m just resolving not to repeat some of the mistakes of the last 12 months.
Resolved: I’m going to try with all my might to remember I left my phone in the shopping cart before I get all the way home, so that in 2025, my husband is not standing on top of the entire corral of buggies calling my number, and hoping for a buggy to light up. Let’s give it up for not doing that this year.
I think in 2025, I should resolve to look at the carpet more closely when I’m walking inside a mall during the Christmas season. Even though bring-a-pet-to-visit-Santa night was Monday and I might be there on Thursday, I resolve not to take it for granted there will not be leftover evidence that it happened, evidence not on my radar in time. You know, any year this doesn’t happen to you is a very good year. Count your blessings!
I’m pretty sure I should resolve that if something is out of reach on the top shelf at Walmart, just to leave it right there. It’s really not worth it to walk from cleaning supplies to sporting goods, get a fishing pole, do the return trip, and spend what takes longer than it would have to catch an actual fish with that thing, just trying to get a can of lavender scented Lysol. This is all far less inconspicuous than you might imagine. I resolve not to be part of that this go-round.
This year, if someone in my camp cabin should say she’s never been to a weiner roast, I resolve not to hear that. I resolve not to bring the whole cabin out under the stars after lights-out to enjoy the first-time wonder of the whole weiner-on-a-skewer experience. I resolve not to ask the camp cook to reserve us a few frankfurters for a late night coming-of-age moment around the bonfire remains. I resolve not to be the person who braves the hot embers in July, shielding my face from a heat burn with a swim ring, only to hear, at the presentation awarded to the deprived camper, “Oh for me? I don’t like hot dogs.” Let’s not. I mean, let’s really not. Let’s resolve with all our being to not. Come on, let's have a little less compassion here.
I resolve not to spill the coffee on the entire crate of school books that cost more than a six-day cruise this year. I resolve not to turn spaghetti night into a game of pick-up sticks before I can even get the noodles in the stockpot. I resolve not to back my chair into the lever that operates the cider dispenser at the holiday gathering, and then wonder where the trickling noise is coming from for a full minute before it finally stops. I resolve not to haul heavy luggage up the steps of a house where I know no one, nor do I have reservations to stay there. I hereby resolve henceforth and forevermore to check the house number on the mailbox first.
It’s going to be a good year. I may not make it through all of these resolutions. Don’t be surprised if I cave in to the wrong stairs thing or even stepping in it at the mall again, but rest assured – I am not falling for the I’ve-never-been-to-a-weiner-roast scam again. I am resolved.
Happy New Year.
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