New Year…New Me?

Okay, let me preface this with the statement that I am not a goal-hater … I just get nervous this time of year. I don’t like failure anymore than the next guy and in my opinion, each new year just offers up another opportunity to set some unattainable, yet wishful goal that I will get bored with, fail at, forget, etc., etc.


At dinner the other night, Jimmy asked me if I had any sort of resolution for 2011. I paused, looked him straight in the eye and said, “Well I would like to lose the rest of my baby weight but I would love to have another child….seems counter intuitive to me.” And with that, my potential New Year’s Resolution went right down the kitchen sink, along with our 3 day old veggie stew.


I mean, I would like to say that I have held on to at least one of my previous New Year’s resolutions but I don’t think I can. Hummmm…Nope. Not one stinkin’ resolution has been carried heroically to the next year.


I get distracted. I get bored. I get hungry. I get complacent. And frankly, I get real with myself. So this year, I am going to set a New Year’s Resolution I am sure to carry forward: I resolve to be real.

And like many of you reading this, I am not sure what ‘real’ looks like for me. Because sometimes I am north and other times I am south. Every now and again, I prefer 2% over skim milk. I teeter totter between Act II popcorn and Smart Balance popcorn. I will go weeks while wearing only my pearl stud earrings, only to switch to a week long marathon of flashy diamonds.

For example, every few months I pick up the horrible bad habit of biting my nails. You can count on the fact that every now and again, my cuticles will be freshly chewed. My nails will be perfectly bitten to the quick and my hands will hold an uncanny resemblance to those of a middle school quarterback. Having said that, there are those months when my hands look fresh. My nails are perfectly manicured in a Whitney Port sort of fashion. They are pretty. Delicate, even.

And these are the quirks that make me, Me. Surely you know what I am talking about here. Can I get an “amen?!”

Like most of you moms and wives, I am desperate to keep a clean house. Having said that, my kitchen desk is littered with the following: random junk mail, expired coupons, a broken picture frame, a stray red crayon, and some pictures Pearce colored that I have yet to put in his 2 year box.


Why then, do I spend 5 minutes a day fluffing pillows that are only going to be flattened by the next butt to sit on them rather than taking 10 minutes clean off my kitchen desk?

 How do I find time every week to vacuum, yet my wooden floors haven’t been cleaned in months?

And how is it that I religiously take Pearce to Mr. Will for a haircut every month, while I use Jimmy’s grooming scissors to unevenly trim my bangs in between my six month haircuts?


Why do I feel compelled to take a 30 minute shower in order to scrub the shower tiles, only to realize that I haven’t bothered to shave my legs in over a week?
 

Because I am a mom. And that is what moms do.

I can hear Pearce crying from a mile away. I still stumble in high heels and try desperately to tuck in my “post baby muffin top” on date nights with Jimmy. My closet is still packed with my pre-pregnancy jeans…just in case. My red lipstick is often uneven and I have been known to leave the house in mismatched shoes. Most days you can find some sort of “keep your kid’s nose clean” remnants on my otherwise clean shirt sleeve. This Christmas I bought everything we needed to make Jesus a birthday cake…but I forgot to make it. The pumpkin pie worked just as well.

And I am still puzzled by my ability to go to Target for eggs and milk, only to return with $100 worth of groceries. But no eggs and no milk.

And my purse. Ooohhhh, my poor purse. I have it all in there: a James Avery charm I have been meaning to mail a friend, one of those snot suckers for babies, receipts that date back to the Civil War, four tubes of chapstick ( I am addicted), and two empty raisins boxes are just a few of the items you can find in my bag. In fact, I weighed myself at the OKC Science Museum as part of a “what would you weigh on the moon?” exhibit. I was stunned to realize I had gained 8 pounds since Thanksgiving. Then I noticed my purse across my chest and those 8 pounds miraculously disappeared.

And you know what? I am okay with all of this. Because this is Me…real, scattered, hoarding, forgetful Me.

Maybe I can’t fit into my pre-pregnancy jeans. It’s okay, because jeans come in bigger sizes.

I may stumble in my high heels, but I wear flats most of the time so why should I be an expert?

And my lipstick? Let’s just chalk that one up to the grubby two-year old hands that often touch my face.


And I may forget some of the essentials at the grocery store…but I can make one heck of a grilled cheese sandwich and somehow couple it with avocado and blueberries to cover some much needed nutrients.

Here’s to keeping it real in 2011.