I know I’m chiming in
January 01, 2004
I know I’m chiming in late on this, but I wanted to share my thoughts on resolutions. There’s been much talk about people’s goals for the new year on the email list I’m on. I only read half of the emails on the subject. I can’t stand to read that stuff too closely. It just seems too personal, to innocently hopeful.
Not that personal and innocently hopeful is bad. After all, I’m perfectly happy to reveal quite a bit about myself here, to you. But not my goals. Not my earnestly felt resolutions, the stepping stones I’ve flung before me to find my way through ’04. I don’t tell anyone those. As a matter of fact, when asked if I’ve made any resolutions for the new year my response has always been either a flippant promise to attempt to eat more chocolate, or a shrug and, “I don’t do resolutions.”
But I do do resolutions. I just don’t share them. So instead I thought I’d share a conversation I had with Tre and Max on the subject of resolutions. They were eating their scrambled eggs New Year’s Eve, a high-protein dinner in preparation for an evening with friends and their party foods. Max was sitting on my lap, doing his amazing food-ignoring act. Tre was taking a bite, asking me if he really had to eat all of it, taking another bite. Raphael had a hard-boiled egg, and was turning it around and around, taking small nibbles out of it. I explained the custom of New Year’s resolutions, and asked them if they thought they’d like to make any.
“Why?” Tre asked.
“Well, I guess people feel like if they set goals for themselves they’re more likely to try harder…to accomplish more,” I replied.
“Do I have to eat all of this?” Tre asked.
“Yes.”
“Did you make any of those…revolutions?” Max wanted to know. Raphael was seeing if any of the divots in his egg was the right size to stick his nose in.
“Resolutions honey. And…I’m still thinking about it.”
Max leaned back against me and gazed off into the dreamy distance.
“Well, I think I want to make a resolution…” he trailed off, clearly thinking hard. We all waited. Even Raphael stopped his egg/nose experiment. “…to put these scrambled eggs in my pants!” Tre burst out laughing, spraying the table with scrambled and chewed eggs. Max chuckled, pleased to have made the big brother laugh. And Raphael took all the hilarity as a sign to start pretending to burp. Loudly.
I resolve not to talk to the boys when they’re eating scrambled eggs anymore. Yeesh.
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