Like everyone else on this earth, or at least in the blogosphere, I'd dearly love to say that my three New Year's Resolutions are:
1) Be a more patient mother to my daughter Sapphire, 6
2) Be a kinder, more loving and understanding partner to Love Chunks
3) Lose weight.
Blah blah blah, wouldn't we all, yawn, snore, zzzzzz. And if you reviewed those plans by December (or even next weekend) they'd be as forsaken as a Hilton sister at a literacy test. Instead I think it's better to save myself the agony and guilt of so obviously failing and develop some alternative - and more importantly achievable - resolutions.
Number One - To squeeze the toothpaste in a proper and mature manner. Most of us (especially when we're in a hurry) just grab the tube and moosh it up in our fist, aiming for the cheap and easy squirt. This results in the top and middle becoming entirely devoid of toothpaste due to the crushed-coke-can effect. Instead, I hope to spend 2006 squeezing the tubes gently from the bottom. This will ensure that there will always be toothpaste available at the top end. No, this is not going to ensure world peace as we'd like it, but it's a rather nice start for the second-smallest room of our house.
Number Two - I will endeavour to actually program and listen to my iPod. Love Chunks, bless his sweet heart, asked me in December 2004, "Would you like an iPod for Christmas?" "Nah, not really," was my response. Despite this fairly clear indicator, he bought one for me anyway. For several days it languished in the box until LC managed to interest me enough to get it out and add on some music. Trouble is, I don't listen to music anymore. I was an eighties gal, but that doesn't mean I want to listen to eighties music for the rest of my life. Current pop songs are excrement and I have no patience trying to find a new song worth a cracker amongst the stream of advertisements and inane DJs on radio. We don't watch music videos because most of them are too suggestive for us to feel comfortable with Sapphire watching them. In addition, with our three busy lives seemingly filled with constant noise, Sapphire's DVDs, Love Chunks' televised sport, telephone calls, TV - I feel like peace and quiet, not music.
Oh dear, this is only resolution number two and I've already rebelled against it. I resolve to watch (or tape, because I'm in Pillow and Doona Land by 10pm these days) 'Rage' every couple of weeks to see if there's anything that lights my fire. Musicwise at least.
Number Three - That I restrict my pillow flipping tendencies to a mere four times per hour. Logic has told me for years that the constant flippin' search for the cooler and/or softer spot in your pillow is a fruitless one. This year I will reduce such activity and maybe keep the fan in our room all year, not just summer, ensuring cool pillows all the time.
Number Four - At thirty seven years old, it is high time for some make up. My life and clothes may be casual but the laugh lines, forehead wrinkles, crows' feet, neck rings are forcing people to mistake me for our local nutter granny who collects beer bottles to supplement her pension. Perhaps some subtle lipstick, mascara and foundation to smooth out the rough bits will change me into a healty and well-preserved woman instead of "Whoever thought that a grown woman could have a face like a blonde Sharpei."
The first steps, for me, will be to boldly venture where I have never been before - the 'beauty' counters of Myer and David Jones. Normally I put my head down and barrel my way through the perfume sprayers to the more relevant departments such as the books, DVDs and gift boxed chocolate sections. The next step will be to carefully select the educator and applicator of the make up - no-one resembling a transvestite or circus clown will be approached. They will have to actually hear my plea to 'keep things light and subtle' or risk a meltdown not seen since I was made up to look like a peacock in a wind tunnel for 'Wheel of Fortune' 1988. Third and final step - to practice applying it and actually wearing the stuff out of the house.
Number Five - Stop using fake tan lotion at home. Even if my legs are like fluoro tubes and are always the whitest at the beach/pool/party/resort/river, I will grit my teeth and try to celebrate the fact that their glow can help Love Chunks read his newspaper long after the sun has set. Besides, the so-called 'natural' tan loses some of its credibility when distinct finger marks are seen on the back of my neck, knees and armpits. A positive aspect to this resolution is that I will get some more free time - no longer will I have to stand starkers in our bathroom like a witless dill for half an hour whilst the lotion takes. Spray-on tans will also be avoided. Admittedly they do look good then and there at the beauty salon, but a bus-trip home later the underwire on my bra has rubbed a fetching white line across my rib cage and there's a lovely brown and white creek bed between my cleavage.
Number Six - Cease and Desist picking at my toes in front of the TV. It (quite fairly) repulses Love Chunks and, once started at, is almost impossible to stop. Other fiddly physical failings including picking out chunks of leftover food from my teeth and then eating it; peeling off my cuticle skins until they bleed; and blowing my nose in the shower. Actually, I think the nose one will be the hardest to quit.
Number Seven - Repress the urge to insult, tease and deride my little brother every single time I see him, email him or talk to him on the phone. I will remind myself that he is thirty five years old for gods sake: a happily married father of two boys; holding down a demanding job as a town planner in our busiest coastal location and responsible homeowner. He is no longer a turkey, a nuisance, pesty poo pants, Thumb up the Bum, Brainless little Bugger or as inconsequential as a honk into my hanky. Come to think of it, this one will be much, much harder to beat than blowing my nose in the shower.