On 2015 and Fake NYE Resolutions

Another year is almost over. I have no New Year's Eve plans. How about you? Oh, I could go to a party I suppose, but then I'd feel guilty about leaving G-Money with the in-laws, and I'd feel even more guilty if he spent the night which has been suggested. Why all the guilt? Can't a bitch go out and have some fun for New Year's? The answer my friends, is NO!

So, after the boy goes to sleep tomorrow night, I may imbibe in some wine, catch some Netflix, and call it a night, all before midnight, most likely. It sometimes makes me long for the days of partying half the night away while dodging shaving cream slaps in the face, and then being able to sleep in until noon the following day. Happy New Year!

On to my "resolution." With resolutions in the past, I always knew I was lying to myself, like oh, I'll stop swearing so damn much, or I'm going to give up caffeine...cold turkey. You know, something that seems so simple, but you know you're never going to do it anyway. Well, I think I've come up with a reasonable resolution, or maybe, a "promise to myself." I think by now, you all know I have a passion for writing. If she's so passionate, why hasn't the bitch written anything since that boy has been born? That's an excellent question that you muttered under your breath. Here's the answer: I use the excuse of, I'm so tired chasing after that little stink pot, that at the end of the day, I want to fall into bed with a book, which, honestly, most days I do, or I catch an episode of my stories, mon'.

I did start a second manuscript before G was born, and was half way through it actually, when I decided to shelve that shit. There might be some good meat in there somewhere, but I came to a giant blockade and couldn't go any further. I didn't like where the story was going and I just gave up.

I thought the solution was... start a new project, get new ideas flushed through, that might bring new ideas to the other project. Of course, I misjudged just how tired I would be all the time and decided sleep overruled writing. So... here we are, a year and a half without a word written. Some writer I am. 

What does all this mindless babble mean to you guys? Well, quite frankly, probably nothing, but, I'm making a personal vow to myself that in 2015, I will sit my ass in that chair, whether it's in the middle of the afternoon on a weekend while the boy naps, or after the boy goes to bed at night and get some words on the page. I will follow through with my book of short stories and get it published. Probably not in 2015... let's not get ahead of ourselves here, but it will be done. I did it once, and I certainly don't want to be some single publication sucka.

In closing, it's been a roller coaster year. We mourned the loss of my grandfather, we celebrated G-Money's first birthday, along with several other of his milestones, walking, talking, eating like a man, climbing, and so on and so forth. We sold our first home and bought another one. We've been sick, we've been healthy, we've been stressed, we've been cool as a cucumber. I always like to think the next year will be better than the last, but that's always a crock of shit isn't it? Has anyone ever had a stellar year, the whole year long? You get the same problems, but in a New Year. I'll just be hoping for no major shit going down, and I'll be happy.

On Christmas and a 17 Month Old

Ah, the Christmas Season is upon us again, and has been since Halloween. Those old Christmas carols have been on repeat since November 1st. I mean, what the hell? How can you get into the Christmas spirit when you haven't even disgustingly gorged yourself on Thanksgiving food until you feel like you want to die. I just don't get it.

I'll admit, I broke down and started listening to Christmas tunes a few days before Thanksgiving, only because it was sub-zero outside, and I felt jolly. Not to mention, the jingle bells and shit made the kid bop his legs in the back seat. Anything that makes for a peaceful car ride I'm down for.

Speaking of the kid, he is 17 months old today. I'll call him a year and a half, he's close enough. I'll call him a year and a half until June, when I'll say, he's almost 2. I really hate it when parents say, "Oh, Mindy is 47 months, and Carson is 76 months." Nobody cares! It's like me saying I'm 376 months old. Phew, with that out of the way, I must mention, this child really is his father's son apparently. He's a bonafide hot dog. Climbing and testing his physical limits. He invokes mini-heart attacks on the daily. He's repeating everything, and has been for a while, which is limiting for his mother who typically swears like a sailor. He's a bit of a character, running around the house with a smirk on his face, being independent playing alone in his room, sitting and building shit with his blocks, he's really his own man. I also really appreciate that he's an observer, he really has to stand back and really take in a situation before he decides whether or not he wants to be involved. That's pretty good for a kid of his age.


Back to Christmas. The tree and decorations went up Thanksgiving weekend. I thought for sure the tree would have come down at least 5 or 6 times by now. Not the case. However, the boy loves ripping the ornaments off the tree and yelling "BALL!" and giggling as he gallops away with the goods. Which is why, all our ornaments are plastic. This year, he's more engaged in Christmas. He admires the lights, he explores the tree, which makes me think... I won't be able to put presents under the tree because all that shit will be open in 3.5 seconds.

And now, for the sentimentality of it all. Christmas is a magical time of year. Maybe it's the lights, the snow, the frigid temps, the stupid Christmas music, or maybe it's being lit up by holiday cocktails, but even at my age, I still feel something in the air around Christmas time. Of course now, presents aren't a priority, it's about hanging out with family and friends, going to holiday parties, imbibing, dancing, celebrating, and enjoying being alive. I find myself looking forward to holiday parties, instead of dreading them, I'm even looking forward to hosting Christmas dinner at the new house even though I have no idea what the hell dinner will be. I'm looking forward to laughter and good stories that may or may not be remembered. That's what Christmas is all about after all, right?