I don't make New Years Resolutions. Per se.
Instead, I spend the whole last week of each year in a perpetual state of "Oh My Gosh I Need To Read More, Eat Less, Breathe More, Yell Less, Calm the F Down, and Take Charge."
Then I resolve to be a better person. All vague and stuff. Because really, resolutions don't work.
Do they? December 31 is just a day on a calendar. It doesn't matter. It's not significant.
Anyway, who the hell knows? I only know one thing for certain: I spent an inordinate amount of time on my two week vacation sorting laundry, doing laundry, folding laundry, finding laundry, and re-organizing the laundry area of our garage.
The one thing I didn't get done was putting it all away. And I am oh so very terrified, now that I've been back to work for two days, that all my hours of thankless labor will be a big fat waste of time because while I am at work, I fear the small and grimy hands that could be rifling through my neatly folded piles looking for just the right pair of leggings, toppling piles and wreaking havoc. The face belonging to those hands might as well just spit in my face and reject me outright.
Because as is the case with every organizational project I ever take on, peeling back the covers and discovering the extent of the problem becomes a daunting and downright sysiphisean endeavor. Case in point: I told my daughters to clean out their dresser drawers so we could put away all the folded clothes as neatly as possible. My youngest is adamantly insisting that one of her drawers is her "crayon holder." And so, I find myself in a power struggle with an 8 year old over whether or not a depressing collection of mostly broken crayons really belongs in a dresser drawer. The power struggle is too much for me, when I'm pretty much doing 3+ full time jobs at the same time, between main job, raising kids, keeping house, and doing freelance gigs. (Husband also doing multiple jobs, also helpful, also fighting the same battles I am, just so's ya know.) So I put off winning the battle, or so I tell myself. I tell myself that I will finesse her, that I will bring her around to my point of view without having to argue, that I will charm her into submission…tomorrow. When I have more energy.
And then tomorrow comes and it's the strangest thing, but I don't got no more energies.
So I don't charm her. She is un-finessed. Crayons are still in the dresser drawer. Folded clothes, slumping and sliding in their piles, are still on the laundry table.
Take that power struggle and multiple it by 5. These days, I feel like I'm locking horns with each and every one of my little darlings…and this is just normal, not a crisis, not dangerous and not anything to really worry about. I can spend 10, 15 glorious minutes with my crazy-bright and funny 10 year old, impressed by the sheer speed of her wit and dazzled by her laughter…and then BAM, I do or say something that prompts her to tell me what I mean and terrible mom I am. Horns lock. Battle lines emerge. She won't let me hug her or tease her into playfulness again.
It happens on the daily. Times 5. How am I supposed to get the laundry put away in such an environment? How keep resolutions to be better?
But one other thing I know for sure. Want I want to do more than anything else in the world
tonight, after I finally get home from a full day of work, followed by an evening school board meeting, when I am utterly exhausted, and just as all the children finally have my ear to pull and my arm to tug, is this: I want to put all of the folded laundry
I resolve to do so. I resolve to be a better person. Eat more, sleep less. Or the other way around. Whatever. I just. want. order.
Instead, I have children. And many piles of folded laundry. And a brand new year to...conquer.
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