Oh, Resolutions

I made a lot of resolutions this year.  A whole lot.  I seldom make resolutions, and this year, I quite possibly made more than I’ve ever made before in all the years of my life added together.  Most of them are for other people, though, because I’m helpful like that.  I’ve put them into actual, made-up-in-my-head dialogue, too, so that they’re easy for others to just pick up and claim as their own.  Again, helpful.

For my twelve-year-old son:  “I swear that I’ll shower daily in 2014, even on weekends.  And sometimes I’ll hit the shower more than once a day, especially any days including itineraries with the words ‘football’ or ‘practice.’  I promise to shower because I like girls, and, according to my mom, girls like one kind of boys:  clean.”

For my five-year-old daughter:  “I won’t spank people I don’t know this year — no fellow gymnasts, no cashiers, no school administrators.  I can’t promise to keep my hands off other kindergartners in the lunch line, though, but I know them, so it’s okay to hit them when Mrs. Anne isn’t looking.”

For Kim Kardashian:  “I resolve to, like, practice more safer motorcycle safety and stuff.  Next time I jump on the bike with Kanye, I’ll wear an animal print helmet.”

For my bosses:  “We promise to award employee awesomeness with stipends this year.  Large stipends.  Lots of zeroes on those checks.”

For my husband:  “I swear I won’t wear my black sweater with navy blue pants again.  Also, I’ll change the toilet seat — the one I promised to change thirty-three months ago.  And I’ll stop growing long fingernails on my pinkies.  I don’t snort drugs, so this isn’t a cool look for me.”

For my animal-hoarding neighbors:  “No new animals in 2014.  Also, we plan to gather the goats, guineas, cats, dogs, horse, and assorted poultry that spend their days pooping on my sweet neighbors’ front lawn (and occasionally on their front porch) and give away whatever is socially unacceptable to kill and eat.  We’ll eat the others before Valentine’s Day.”

For Mother Nature:  “I vow to blanket the beautiful Arkansas River Valley in many inches of powdery white snowfall.”

For Minute Maid:  “We will release a calorie-free apple juice in 2014.”

For my husband (again, because I’m seldom organized):  “This year I’ll take my lovely wife on dates that don’t include the words ‘casino’ or ‘Sam’s Club.'”

And finally, for myself:  “This will be the year that I learn to embrace being an introvert — not because I think it’s cool, but because I’m thirty-six and still can’t start a conversation with a stranger.  Well, I can if I’m drunk, but I don’t think resolving to become an alcoholic is responsible parenting.”