day one

I quite adore a fresh start. Turning to a new calendar page. Starting a new week. Learning to say a new year. As you can imagine, I'm a big fan of the celebration of a new year.

2018. Bizarre, right? Just as was 2017, and 2010, and 2000. Honestly, each increased number holds a magic in the beginning, until it becomes old hat and we start looking toward the next. But for now, 2018 is nothing but shiny, full of potential. This is the year I'll finally...

Years ago, I swore off resolutions, but it was just for show, I think. As much as I may not want to be just like everybody else, I am also a major sucker for a lot of things. And as gimmicky as resolutions may be, I can't resist the urge to think of the passing of one year and the start of the next as the perfect opportunity to try to do things better. I've been on a bit of a roll for the last couple months on having a healthier evening self-care routine, and while I'm not sure if it's habitual yet, I am fighting my laziness more often than not to get it done before collapsing for the night. While I went lax for a while in the second half of 2017 on my healthier eating choices-- especially in that lovely Thanksgiving-New Year's period of gluttony-- I want to get back on track again. I've been working through a hip issue, and I'm determined to strengthen it with the exercises given to me by the doctors. What better time to start fresh than now?

In a similar way, but perhaps just seen through a different lens, I also want to acknowledge when I've had a win, when I could have made a choice that I know isn't the best but found the strength in the moment to do what I know is better. I had a perfect opportunity before day one was in the books.

The children are gold medalists in bickering, and no calendar turn is going to make that disappear just yet. When we returned home in the evening after a holiday party, the bickering started up almost immediately, and it was flourishing with tears and slammed doors as soon as I returned from the bathroom. Rather than just yelling out of frustration and exhaustion, both of which were in full supply for me in the moment, I stopped and tried to see and hear through each of my children's eyes and ears. What I heard and saw were hurt feelings and a lack of understanding of the other's perspective. I tried to talk to each of them in a way that would encourage a bit of self-reflection, a bit of analysis of one's own behavior while suggesting that they evaluate if their choices showed the person they each wanted to be.

There were more tears, but there were also hugs and I think everyone went to bed feeling slightly better than had I simply yelled at them to cut it out, as is often the case. That's one accomplishment, even a small one, that I want to acknowledge for myself. Parenting, at least for me, has been 17.5 years of asking myself, "Well, what did I fuck up today?" It's nice to note the wins.