This time of year makes folks get all introspective and philosophical as they take a look at their lives through their resolution glasses while attempting to zip themselves back into their mysteriously snug pants. A time of year when people resolve to overhaul everything in their lives from their circumference to their credit score. I know because I’ve been doing the same thing for years now. Except I always make the same resolutions–and why not? They are good ones. Of course, in all these years, I’ve yet to actually attain those resolutions. Which then makes me add another resolution to my list: stop failing to accomplish anything. I keep this up and by the time I’m raising havoc in the retirement home, I’ll have to start reciting my list of resolutions on Boxing Day.
I think this year I’m going to try something different. I think I’m going to pick better resolutions to resolve. Perhaps that is the key to not needing to crown myself “Queen Resolution Fail”. Continue reading →
My new year started out with a sound every parent dreads: the sound of their child growing up. My youngest walked into the room and announced “Santa isn’t real.” This came from the mouth of a 3.5 year old – he’s the last one, my last baby ever and there is something poignant about the last time you do something with your last baby. It makes the finality of babydom so real. But figuring out about Santa? At 3.5 without help from his siblings? What is the world coming to? Thank goodness cousin Lars was there. “That’s just crazy talk” he ended the startled silence.
First off, let me just state this simple fact: I have a big butt. We pear-shaped gals have lots going on in the butt-department, and not so much in the boob-department. For me, this has long been a source of major emotional angst. I’m a white girl – white girls are not supposed to have big butts, no matter how much Sir Mix-A-Lot likes them. In my little social circles, a white girl with a big butt is, well, the butt of the jokes.
I have two choices: move to a more ethnic neighborhood, or accept that this is the shape my particular chromosomal arrangement gave me and move on emotionally. Frankly, I like my house. So, perhaps my New Year’s Resolution should be to drop 15 pounds and find a way to be happy with the way I look – including my butt.
There is nothing like finding evidence of your own inadequacy. Some people probably have to root around way harder than I do. For me, it’s a pretty accessible kind of thing. You know, like open your eyes and “Hey, I’m still Me!” Being me isn’t really all that bad – I mean, I’ve had some practice. The hard part is realizing that inside this mature body is the psyche of the kid I once was. Needy. Geeky. Home on Friday nights.
Happy New Year. If 2009 is like all the rest, I’ll be in need of more drugs and therapy before we’ve hit Valentine’s Day.