I resolve to ban myself from making New Year’s resolutions!!!!

I didn’t really count the 1st of January as the “beginning” of the New Year for the following reasons:

  1. It was Sunday. I wasn’t going to get out of my pyjamas until noon. That’s standard practise in our house.
  2. I reckoned if I had gone out the night before to celebrate (which I didn’t because I have a toddler) I might be hung over so I would have written the day off as unproductive.
  3. If I were travelling in an airplane from Ireland to say, San Francisco, who knows what damn time it would be? We might still be in 2016 and I wouldn’t even be aware of the fact.

The best thing to do was to ignore the 1st of January. There’s no need, just yet, to dust off my running shoes and buy high visability t-shirts for my planned jogs around the housing estate. I need not recalibrate the dusty scales in the bathroom. What smart Alex wrote “Clean me!” with a podgy finger in the dust on the scales? I’ll deal with him later. No, let’s just ease our way gently into the second day of the year.


Welcome, Day 2. A bank holiday.

Therefore, technically not necessary to enforce the “New Year, New Me” regime. Resolution list writing begins. But first, I’ll unload the dishwasher. Actually, as a family, we should do a HUGE spring clean. An uncluttered house equals an uncluttered mind. What a great way to start the year folks. Husband, open the recycling bin! Get the mop and vacuum cleaner! Why is he making that face?

Actually, since husband is starting work on the third day of 2017, that day is officially the beginning of the New Year. So, I decide, there is no need to pull a hammie by over-exerting myself too much on day 2. But I can prepare! Of course! One wishes to succeed in 2017! Fail to prepare, prepare to fail – and all that managerial-type, jargon nonsense.


Pre-resolution procrastination work-out routine:

House cleaned and sanitised (I think we probably did kill 99.9% of all the bacteria who had moved in over the Christmas period);

Shed reorganised;

Toddler’s bedroom furniture has been moved around to create optimal playing space;

Toddler’s clothes have been refolded;

Toddler’s toybox has been re-organised;

Bookshelf has been catalogued (only two categories; fiction and non-fiction – I do have a life ya’ know!);

Inventory of non-perishables has been completed (luckily, we have plenty of toilet paper);

Right, I better do a food shop. I’ll buy all the fruit and veg and quinoa I can find.


I’m ready!

I snuggled into bed. Bring on the “new” New year. The 3rd of January. I’m ready. Clothes are laid out for the morning. Resolutions are MADEEEEEEE.

  • Get up earlier
  • Exercise more
  • Stop procrastinating
  • Practise my piano every day
  • Read hundreds of books
  • Be kind to myself
  • Be kinder to others (unless they are rude, then I can tell them to piddle off!)
  • Quit putting recyclables in the regular trash
  • Prepare two vegetarian dinners a week – we don’t need meat with every meal!
  • Stop messing around when I’m supposed to be writing. Just write woman!
  • Stop drinking straight out of the orange juice carton.
  • Eat less chocolate for breakfast
  • Learn more about economics and politics
  • Make more friends (but not with morons!)
  • Spend less time on social media – that s*it will rot your brain!

As I drifted off to sleep, I was quietly confident I could stick to my resolutions. Of course I could! Easy peasy. You see, I had eased my way gently into 2017. Slow and steady wins the race. Ah yes! It’s a marathon, not a sprint. My strategy was DEFINITELY going to work this year.


What the fish happened!!!!!

At 8.45am, I was still in my pyjamas, drinking out of the orange juice carton, checking Facebook. But I had been up since 7am, dressed the toddler for crèche and bundled her into husband’s car. It was wayyyyyyyyyy to cold and frosty to go outside and exercise so maybe I could that later. Or maybe not. Shall I make a spag bol for dinner tonight? I’ll start the vegetarian stuff towards the end of the week. That butternut squash I bought will be a right pain in the backside to chop.

Alright, so I am the worst at keeping New Year’s resolutions. I know I am. But, at least today, I wrote.




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