I’m not good with New Year’s resolutions, but this time of year has always made me reflective.
Question: What causes more reflection than the beginning of a new year?
Answer: Living with teenage children.
Until my older sons hit the ages of 12 and 13, I stumbled through my life blissfully unaware of all the embarrassment I had previously caused. I thought I was cool. I thought I was smart. I thought I understood computers. I thought no one noticed that I wore slippers to the gas station in the morning.
Now, each year, I become exponentially more like a caricature of myself.
So I won’t pretend to be a better Sarah in 2015. While I still have teenagers at home, the cards are stacked against me. All I can do is look back at 2014 and try to glean some hints about how to be less of an embarrassment in the year to come. These include the following:
I will not drop off the kids at school wearing my slippers and bathrobe.
If I do wear my slippers and bathrobe to take the kids to school, I will not get out of the car.
I will canoe more and ride in the boat less.
I will actually paddle the canoe and not pretend while my kids paddle in the back.
If I choose to fly somewhere, I will in fact get on the plane.
I will not choose to fly somewhere.
I will not cry during Little League games. I will not cry during “The Bachelor.” I will not cry at any time that might embarrass my teenage sons.
If I cry, I will pretend I’m laughing.
At 4:30 on a Monday afternoon in June, I will go outside to play and remember that in six months’ time, it will be dark and cold.
At 4:30 on a Monday afternoon in December, I will hunker down on the couch and remember that in six months’ time I will be mowing the lawn and pulling weeds.
I will remember that I don’t actually mow the lawn or pull weeds anymore, and I will be glad that I have sons old enough to do it for me.
When I am tempted to fuss with the boys’ hair or collars, I will pet the dog instead.
I will remember that the key to my son’s heart is through roast beef and scalloped potatoes.
I will lie on the dock until the first stars appear and not say anything about the mosquitoes or bats.
I will not be afraid to put on a bathing suit.
I will not allow pictures of me in a bathing suit.
I will remember that before I rake the snow off the roof, I should always shovel the front steps first. No, wait! I mean, I will shovel the steps and then rake the roof. Right: steps first, roof second.
I will remember that the person taking my pizza order doesn’t necessarily want to hear about my day or why I’m ordering pepperoni this time instead of Hawaiian.
If I’m invited to the White House for a State Dinner again, I will not ask Rep. Paul Ryan why he looks so familiar. (For the record, his witty response was, “That’s what happens when you lose an election.”)
I will step away from the chocolate chip cookies (and leave more for the kids).
I will invite more people to dinner (and serve them roast beef and scalloped potatoes).
I will not make up words to songs or create rhymes about the chores my kids should be doing.
I will not dance. Not ever.
I will not put notes with X’s, O’s or hearts in lunch boxes.
I will not complain when I lose in Monopoly.
I will not play Monopoly.
I will not make the soldiers in Axis & Allies talk to each other. I will not give the Monopoly pieces names. I will not feel sorry for chess pieces. I will not anthropomorphize anything.
I will remember that trying to make Mario do the moonwalk across a cloud does not constitute “playing Wii.”
I will refrain from using my family members’ pet names in public.
I will remember that taking my boys to any craft store, knitting shop or boutique is not “quality time.”
I will not sing at the grocery store, post office, library, Target, in the car, in the canoe, in the house or out of the house.
I will not — not in a million years — forget how wonderful, witty, smart and helpful my Lindiddy, Owey, and Fordy-Pie are.
Maine author and columnist Sarah Smiley’s writing is syndicated weekly to publications across the country. She and her husband, Dustin, live with their three sons in Bangor. She may be reached at Facebook.com/Sarah.is.Smiley.