Closeup portrait of little girl and two boys looking at camera, eating cookies and lying under table at home. Front view.
Closeup portrait of little girl and two boys looking at camera, eating cookies and lying under table at home. Front view. MangoStar_Studio

New rules for new resolutions

SO HERE we are, it's 2018. As I write this we're 10 days into a brand, shiny new year. Everyone's gung-ho. Everyone's got new ideas, new routines, new enthusiasm.


Except me. I'm sitting here on a couch surrounded by the evidence of my already failed new year's resolution, which fizzled out in a pile of smooshed crackers and spilt cordial a good nine days ago.

Unlike previous years, it hasn't come down to a lack of willpower (well, not on my part, anyway). It's just that I have ... how do I put this? ... children. And a clear lack of insight into what is a realistic resolution.

Now, at the risk of confirming I am the dullest person in the universe, I can reveal my new year's resolution was, wait for it, that our family would only eat and drink on the tiled or outside areas of our home.

I know what you're thinking: wow, there's a girl who really lives on the edge.

To put things into perspective, I didn't sit for hours thinking about my hopes and dreams for the coming year and then come up with that.

In fact, I was tidying the lounge room on New Year's Day and having a bit of a tanty about all the food crumbs everywhere.

"I know what our new year's resolution is going to be," I said grumpily.

"We're keeping all food and drink off the carpet!"

The kids, in their usual fashion, ignored me.

Until later in the day when little bro went to take his crackers on to the carpet and I waved a stern finger at him (think the policeman on the Go to Jail square of the Monopoly board) and sent him back to the tiles.

"Uh-uh-uh," I tutted.

"Off the carpet."

He put his head down and jutted out his lower lip (that damn lip will get that kid everywhere in life), but he did what I said.

For the rest of the day I hovered at all times when food was around, ready to send them back over the border in a style that would have made Donald Trump grin from orange-ear-to-orange-ear.

Now although I hadn't been entirely serious when I said it, the more I thought about it I decided it was, in fact, resolution-worthy.

After all, what could be a more challenging yet noble task than teaching your children responsibility?

Well, nothing, as it turns out.


I may as well have resolved to ride a unicycle backwards up Mt Everest because it would have been less exhausting and time-intensive.

Maybe it's just because they're home all the time at the moment, maybe it's just because they're eating all the time (or, more accurately, asking for food that they then don't eat) or maybe it's because I got busted eating Doritos on the lounge chair and boomeranged back over the border by big sis.

But my resolve didn't even last as long as a cheap plastic toy on Christmas Day.

So that's it.

My resolution for next year is not to make resolutions.

I feel like I should have stuck to something more realistic, like hubby's goal of winning the lotto.

At least that's got a one in 290million chance of succeeding.