I have to admit I’m not much of a New Year’s resolutions type of person – giving up stuff I like has never been a strong point of mine (one reason I’m still holding onto those velvet hot pants circa 2012 – I know there’ll be a playgroup or meeting those will be perfect for). But the last couple of years I have begun to use the New Year shenanigans to take up something new – one year it was to see more live comedy, another to read more and last year it was to start writing again (I know as if 2016 wasn’t bad enough it goes and convinces me to start this blog and now you have to read my witterings on a weekly-ish basis). This year already looks to be full of ‘doing new stuff’ (more about that in a few weeks) so I’m giving myself a break by not setting myself any other big challenges this year.
However, just because I’m not convinced by the New Year New Me malarky doesn’t mean I’m not beyond enforcing a few resolutions on the living entities I’ll be sharing the majority of 2017 with. So here are the resolutions I’m setting for my family:
To take the Christmas tree to the tip before our usual embarrassing trip to the neighbour in March to retrieve the brown husk of the tree that has blown from our fetid yard into their pristine haven of natural gloriousness after a rather wild storm. Every year. Every single year.
When listening to a podcast, stop answering my question ‘what you listening to?’ with ‘a podcast’. I know that, I want the fucking specifics, excuse me for trying to start a conversation.
Cook more roast dinners. His potatoes are to die for and I love carbs.
To poop on the toilet. She’s mastered not weeing in her knickers and has thankfully got passed the ‘ooh I think I’ll just smear this ginormous shit in between the pages of The Very Hungry Catepillar’ stage but she’d still rather defecate in a pull-up then grace the porcelain throne with the brown stuff.
To not say MUUUUUUUUUMMY three billion times a day, at the start of every sentence even if I’m sat right next to her. Maybe to mix it up with a ‘Daddy’ once in a while or maybe, now here’s a thought, don’t say anything.
To learn to play more on her own. For someone who is not great at sharing she certainly keen for me to play with her. It wouldn’t be so bad but I always have to play the ‘Mum’ and basically reenact the dull domestic life I would be leading if I wasn’t pretending to do it in a ridiculous tiny wooden kitchen and thereby having to relive the mundanity of human existence over and over again like some horrifying Kafkaesque treadmill of boredom until I die.
Stop noisily chewing the barren piece of skin that used to house his balls. Just stop it, they’ve been gone for five years. Let it go.
Lose weight. Since November the Dog has been vet certified F.A.T so it’s time to lose the ‘puppy fat’ (he’s ten, it’s just fat) and become the dog he was always meant to be. I’m thinking some sort of aloe vera or juice based diet plan followed by a DVD and book deal.
Stop shedding hair. It’s winter for fuck’s sake, why are you moulting?
Stop plotting the downfall of the Dog and focus on shitting more than 30 centimeters outside the cat flap.
Take over the world. I’m done with our human leaders, time to let the felines have a go.
What do you think? Do you reckon the fam will succeed in achieving any of these? What resolutions would you set for your nearest and dearest?