Along with the disposal of a million-and-one pine needles, an enormous credit card bill and a sense of desperation, the New Year is also synonymous with The Resolution. You determine to lose weight, give up smoking, learn more, be nicer, bigger, better. And invariably you set out with the best of intentions, make it through January with little struggle. Then comes February and Valentine’s Day so you take a little break, with every intention of getting back to it, and you do, but somehow it’s a little harder. Next comes March, spring and Easter, requiring another break and before you know it, summer’s around the corner and you feel so positive and alive and the resolutions that you made somehow seem less important. And thus they lie forgotten in the recess of your brain until January comes around again and the cycle begins once more.
Rather than continue to fall into this trap, when I was in my twenties and completely incapable of achieving a single thing on my list of resolutions, I decided to do something about it and changed the goalposts. Realising that I was never going to achieve the smaller things, I looked at the bigger things and came up with a list of lifetime goals. They were things that were important enough for me that they could take the rest of my life to achieve, and flexible enough that I could cross two off in a month or not achieve anything for a couple of years. The pressure came off and it became easier. So easy, in fact, that I only actually have a couple left. I feel happier in January, calmer in February and less disappointed in myself in March.
This year I have been slightly disappointed in myself for not having written more since the arrival of Squeaky, but as the arrival of Squeaky meant that I could tick another Lifetime’s Ambition off the list, I’ve not lost sleep (not strictly true, since babies don’t always make sleep easy!). I do miss it. The annual tax return deadline has poked me into action in the last few days, since I have realised that my maternity leave is almost at an end. Squeaky started nursery last week, and whilst I know that things will never be entirely back-to-normal, I have to get back to normal. I have to get back to work. And I have to get back to writing.
So I suppose I am making one resolution this year- to get back to being the Aspiring Domestic Goddess that I am. If anything Squeaky has added an extra dimension to my Fifties-Housewife-in-the-21st-Century challenge. I will remain faithful to the principles I started out with, namely to appear to be the perfect housewife, whilst still trying to wrangle dog, baby, husband, house and whatever else falls in my lap as I sit watching daytime TV and scoffing chocolate in my PJs!
