Resolution Revelations

Creating my list of New Year’s resolutions nags at me like a petulant child, and with four kids, I am familiar with the feeling.

Traditionally, by the end of each year, I put together a list of all the mountains I intend to climb over the next 365 moons. This year was no different.

Top of the list is the exact failed resolution that has been at the top of the list for over two decades.

In 2022, I will finally lose what I refer to as “age weight.” You know, the extra pounds, compliments of Father Time, that can’t be hidden under a smart Cynthia Rowley A-line frock. They are the un-Spanxable ripples that distract from whatever fabulous shoes I am wearing.

Achieving my more svelte self gets me to the second of my timeless resolutions. I will exercise more.

Actually, I exercise plenty, but I promise to take it more seriously. These days, I hop on the exercise bike in our home gym, watch Netflix, and pedal slowly. Imagine the rhythm of a Michael Buble ballad.

If I get thirsty, I have two-cup holders; one holds a water bottle and the other a stemless glass of chardonnay. In 2022, I promise to pedal faster.

Next on my list of porous promises is my do-gooder goal. I plan to be a better wife and mother.

My only question is whether my resolution counts if it is conditional. Aren’t family duties two-way? Sure, I promise to be nicer, kinder, and all that stuff, but only if my family reciprocates, helps more during the holidays, acknowledges my extraordinary talents and lovable nature.

As for the remainder of my resolutions, I have added a few new personal pledges.

By the first snow of 2022, I will be more forthcoming, meaning no Pinocchio nose for me.

I will no longer cut in half the amount I spend on the kids when asked by my inquisitive spouse.

I will try to be more romantic and plan getaways to do what my faithful wants to do – which means I need to buy a fly rod and waders.

And most importantly, I will no longer make resolutions that have had a shelf life of more than 20 years.