But who is going to hold me to it?

Normally, I eschew things like New Years resolutions. A resolution is nothing more than another opportunity to fail.

Because I'm more than a little tired of who I am naturally, I've decided to try some new things. Push myself a bit. Don't worry. I'm setting the bar pretty low and I've brought a paper bag in case any of this causes hyperventilation.

1. Drink my coffee black. Like the midwife who delivered all three kids once said "it takes a whole lotta sugar to keep me sweet." Hell yeah. But it's time to acknowledge the wafer thin wall between bad eating habits and future ill health. There is no reason to ruin a perfectly good cup of coffee by adding enough sugar and cream to make a dessert. A spoon should not be required to consume coffee.

2. Read more. Anita mentioned that 2012 is the Year of Reading the Books You Own. Yes! I purchased a ridiculous number of books last year from a used book store that was going out of business and at the Friends of  the Library book sales. While I can't guarantee that I won't be lured by the siren song of the library's new releases shelves, I am setting a goal of reading at least one of the books I own once a month.

3. Stop making fun of the sound the oldest cat makes when she crunches the dry cat food. She probably isn't that amused by it anyway.

4. Stop projecting my shit onto other people, especially those closest to me. Just because I'm feeling all balled up about something doesn't mean that MathMan has to be. A true challenge. Misery often does love company. Especially if company comes bearing cheap chocolate.

5. Stop worrying and learn to love the bomb. Feel free to project your own shit on me here to get the meaning.

6. Annoy one celebrity a day on Twitter. Hey, it's a branding strategy, okay?

7. Ignore the cesspool of American politics. It's like attempting to ignore an itch on your butt when you're in standing in line at the DMV. You don't want to scratch in front of the people behind you and you can't leave your place in line.

8. Wii Just Dance. No matter who is around to mock me.

9. Stop looking for a job. Is it like love? When you stop looking, that's when it finds you? And if not, why not?

10. Stop censoring myself out of fear that potential employers will see my blog, facebook, twitter, pinterest, etc. and decide that I am not "their kind of people." Maybe my blog and social media is what I should be doing while I finish working on the novel and a couple of other projects I've added to my To Do list. After nearly 500 job applications, it's clear I'm going to have to make my own way.

P.S. If you're a potential employer, I'm kidding! I'm a rule follower. A hard worker. A team player. Versatile, appropriately innovative and I possess strong communications skills. And I come cheaply. See! I use adverbs!

P.S.S. Some of you might be surprised to learn that I censor myself. I know!

11. Stop judging people by the inane stuff they post on Facebook. Being a judgmental asshole says more about me than about the people doing the cut and paste I bet you won't do this statuses, the TGIF posts, the Monday complaints, the weather reports and the questions about which new, expensive phone to buy. It says I'm easily bored, snobbish, pretentious, sanctimonious and jealous. It says they lack creativity. See what I mean?

12. Acquire new skills. I can't really afford to go back to school right now, but my friend Christine posted online a list of free educational opportunities and more than one of them appeal to me. Learning for the sake of learning? Why not?

Twelve for 2012 seems hokey enough, right?

Have you used this arbitrary date to promise yourself anything?

And I tread a troubled track

Remember this story from PoliTits?

I am not fond of the RIP stuff that happens on Facebook and Twitter. To me it's akin to those roadside memorials. Tacky. A need to become part of a personal, private tragedy. I am a judgmental fuck. I come from a world where emotions are best suppressed and life is to be faced with a thin-lipped grimness. To intrude on someone else's loss is gross. I don't want to be a part of it and I am embarrassed for the multitude of strangers who feel it necessary to voice their grief or even acknowledgment of a celebrity's passing.

But today, learning of the death of Amy Winehouse, whose music touched me at a time when I lived with my own dangerous addiction, I saw the point. This is a person who had an impact on my life and it didn't matter that she never knew. The lyrics on Back to Black were stories lifted from my life.

Thank you, Amy. And Rest in Peace.

And this.

Adventures in Real Parenting: And If You Tell Anyone, I'll Do It Again

 Last night I cried.

Contrary to what I may occasionally write here, this is not as common of an occurrence as you may think.  I treat crying pretty much the same way I treat throwing up.  I fight it all the way.

And although there are a myriad of contributing factors involved - hormones perhaps?  I did feel utterly compelled to buy chocolate yesterday....., suppressed stress, changes in routine, etc., I still ultimately blame motherhood for the tears that overcame my best attempts to hold them back.

First there was Nate and a lot of noisy pain after he fell and cut up and banged his elbow and arm.  Funny how he and his friends can fly screaming around the winding streets of our subdivision, a gaggle of yahoos on a go-kart, dodging police, rock throwing preschoolers and sisters begging for turn on the contraption and all is hunkydory.

But he walks across the yard carrying a tennis racket and bam!  He's on the ground and his arm is busted.  But then, who am I to talk?  I had an OxyClean FAIL this morning that ended up with me getting some of it in my eye and taste of it, as well.  It doesn't go well with coffeetongue.

After much moaning and indecision about going to the doctor, ice application and Ibuprofen, Nate went to bed with a belly full of pork chop and fresh strawberries and woke up feeling okay enough to go to school and declined a trip to the doctor's office.

Nevertheless, worry, worry.  My worry switch had been flicked into the ON position.

What really pushed me to tears, though, wasn't the kind of scary, worrisome parenting stuff.  Instead it was the nice stuff.  The stuff that, even though it makes you cry, it also makes all this worth it.  Chloe was the culprit.  Or more specifically a paper she wrote.  She emailed it to me late last night expecting I would proofread it this morning for her.  I saw it in my email and thought I'd take care of it right then so she wouldn't have to wait and I wouldn't have it hanging over my head as something to forget in my long list of Friday errands.

Wanna know what the paper was about?  Facebook.  Of all things.  And it was an excellent paper.  That kid knows how to write and I'm not saying that because I'm her mom.  If I thought anything she was about to hand in for a grade was crap, I'd tell her so.

In the paper, she wrote how Facebook had allowed her to stay in touch with friends she went to school with from kindergarten through sixth grade in Illinois.  And now how she uses it to stay in touch with friends from high school who have scattered for college, military service and work.  And how she uses it to keep in touch with family near and far.  And how it's comforting to see your mom's constant (constant?) status updates and posts, especially when you want to be independent,but it's still nice to hear her "voice."  Wahhhhhhh!

I lost it.  I cried first when she wrote about how she'd seen so many graduation pictures from her old Illinois pals that she almost forgot that she wasn't there with them, part of it.  Wahhhhh!  Guilt! Guilt!  And then when she admitted that sometimes she wanted to hear the sound of my voice, well.......there are no words I was so touched.

Ten minutes after I told MathMan, I'd be right back - I was just shutting down my computer, he came looking for me.  I was in tears at my computer.  He became alarmed.  I like to cry alone, rarely letting him comfort me.  "What's wrong?"

I blubbered out some response, quickly followed up by the PMS explanation.  He hugged me, rubbed my back and kissed the top of my head.

When he left the room, he said "You know, it's okay to cry."

Sometimes.

The chocolate remains untouched.