I love a new year. Some people roll their eyes at resolution-makers, but not me. If resolution-making were a hobby, I’d finally have something to write in that awkward space on forms at the doctor’s office. (BTW, why does the doctor care about my hobbies? In case they’re dangerous, so she can talk me out of them? Got it. Totally makes sense. Back to the story.) I’ve made eighteen resolutions for 2018. Some are really silly, like “Have the strength to throw away socks without mates.” Others are more grand, like “Stop checking your phone every fifteen minutes. Oprah still hasn’t called.” I was thrilled to start a new year. A clean slate. A fresh start to a better life. THIS is going to be the year!
Before all these great plans were set in place, we took a quick, post-Christmas/pre-New Year vacation. It was great. We were great. Everything was great. THEN . . . it wasn’t. During the last flight home, our eight-year-old son got sick. Everywhere. You guys, this is my parenting nightmare. We were stuck in a metal tube, 30,000 feet in the air, soaked in vomit. If you’re up for the details on what happened next, here’s the video re-enactment:
We take a very “you’re quarantined” approach to illness in our house. If you’re sick, you’re home from school or any activity where you may encounter people until you’re well again. I was taking care of a sick child (armed with anti-bacterial wipes) and NOT tackling my resolutions.
Thankfully, he’s better now and back in school. So here we go. It’s not a new year, but it’s a new day. It’s another chance for a fresh start, so I’m taking it.
And yes. I have a list of eighteen resolutions/things I want to accomplish for 2018. I will share that soon. Until then, do you make resolutions? If so, what are they?