So here we are at yet another new year. A year in which I will turn 41, dammit, thus being firmly ensconsed in that dreaded decade. Is there any way I can spin 41 to somehow still being in my late thirties? If I find a way, I will let you know.
I was certainly glad to see the arse-end of 2011, which was quite stressful; and am delighted to see 2012, which stretches out in front of us, deliciously empty and full of possibility.
In 2011, we went bonkers and decided to sell our house and everything we owned and set about showing our children the United States.
That tiny sentence does not even begin to hint at the difficulty and stress and worry and arguments which happened as a result of that crazypants notion, but if you’ve been reading here for the last few months, you’ve probably had enough of my whinging endlessly about it, so I’ll move on.
Ever since Christmas was over, I have been exhausted. Bone-tired and itching for a nap from the minute I get up – at 10:30 am, thanks to a generous hubby who mysteriously does not begrudge my sleeping in. I think 2011 finally caught up with me, and all the tiredness I’ve ignored for the last 6 months because we have crap to get done here, people! came crashing down on me the second I sat still.
In thinking of 2012, I can’t help but think about 2011, and why we started down the drastic house-selling road in the first place.
We want to be more present.
To really see and hear our children. To look at them, pause, and memorize their ever-changing faces. To gaze into their eyes, not distracted by the house and the bills and all the stuff that’s mostly nonsense, and think of nothing except what they are saying…thinking…feeling.
To slow down, and just be.
To cook together, read together, learn together, and experience more than suburbia – together.
To get to know each other better. To create happy memories. To work on sharing and being kind.
To learn to make a proper nine, once and for all.
To prevent our children from lying in bed with their spouses in the future, talking about us the way we lie in bed and talk about our parents. Sadly. Disappointedly. Angrily.
To stop staring at the ceiling in the middle of the night, wondering if I even looked my children in the eye that day. Because I’ll know I did.
To stop wondering if I gave them enough kisses. Because I’ll know I gave them hundreds of kisses, and cuddles besides.
To stop trying to remember if I listened to them at all, or did all our interactions that day consist of me bossing them, or scolding them, or way more often than I’d like to admit – yelling at them. Because I am going to work on being calmer and more patient and I shall soon brimming with awesome-momness.
To stop wondering all the time if I am screwing this whole thing up.
(why yes, I AM a barrel of laughs in the middle of the night)
To spend less – or even no! time focused on the condition of the grass and where are we going to get the money to fix the air conditioner and how much longer can we expect that ancient thing to limp along before we have to shell out the really big bucks to replace it and where are these stupid ants coming from, I guess we’d better make a trip to Home Depot and while we’re at it let’s replace that broken doorknob and did you pay that bill and do you think you’ll get a raise this year and your mother called and–and–and….
So that’s what 2012 is going to be about.
And maybe teaching these kids to chew with their dadgum mouths closed, for heaven’s sake.