It’s the last day of 2012. No kidding, part of me thought that we would never live to see this day. Clearly I have an unhealthy fondness for John Cusack, but if the world were covered in water and giant metal ships were banging around everywhere and I was sprouting kelp in Davy Jones’ locker today, I wouldn’t be surprised. I mean, I’d be dead, so obviously. But even so. You know what I mean.
Anyway, I was so consumed with Christmasey Christmasness and vomiting that I planned absolutely less than nothing for today. It’s pretty lame of me, since growing up my parents always got those packs of hats and annoying roll-up-paper bazooka things and made cookies and let us stay up and watch the ball drop. Those are some of my favorite memories, and here I didn’t even plan dinner. We’re having leftovers. And I ate the rest of the Hershey’s Kisses last night, so no candy either. I totally dropped the ball this year.
In my defense, I spent most of yesterday watching Jericho while the Ogre played with the kids’ new legos. Oh, wait.
This morning I went for a run. Oh, you were wondering how my slow burn workout plan has been going? Sorry, I’ve been avoiding the topic since I’ve mostly been avoiding the whole thing. I have managed to keep working out. I’m now alternating running and pilates, so I get the cardio and muscle-building benefits. And then I’m also eating as much leftover Christmas candy as humanly possible, because I’d hate to lose the nice layer(s) of fat over said muscles and make my husband doubt that he deserves such a hot wife with such a smokin’ bod. (You’re welcome, babe.) But I’ve done such a good job that we’re almost out of candy, and my New Year’s Resolution is not to buy any more, so I’m sure I’ll be down to a size 4 in no time. Positive, in fact.
I ran a whole mile this morning without stopping. I felt like Rocky. But now I’m very, very tired and feeling slightly dizzy and a little punch-drunk. I suspect this might be because I stayed up till midnight watching Jericho and consumed two large and overly stiff hot toddies, then woke up a mere 6 hours later and decided that today was most definitely the day to just run the whole damn mile already. I seriously doubt that I’ll be conscious when the rest of you are ringing in the New Year. I’ll celebrate in my sleep.
Since tomorrow is the international day when all of secular society half-heartedly pledges to go forth and sin no more (with our collective fingers crossed behind our collective backs), does that mean today is the day for public confessions? Because I have one I’d like to make. In addition, of course, to the ones I already made. I guess this post has a theme after all. Anyway, this.
I hate these memes. I hate all little blurbs and cards and inspirational sayings about homemakers. I hate them because I feel like they’re trying too hard to convince me, and I’m not convinced.
Yes, these things are true. Yes, being a homemaker is a very, very important job (but no, I don’t think it’s the most important one in the world. That honor goes to everyone who makes wine.). But the thing is, it’s also the lowliest, most humbling job in the world. We spend years, literally years, wiping up other people’s shit. Then we get to spend years teaching them to wipe up their own shit. It’s so hard to feel dignified and important when you’re trying to help a three-year-old figure out how to maneuver her arm just right so she successfully wipes front-to-back but doesn’t end up with poop all over her hand. When the greatest triumph you’ve managed in the past seven years of parenting is to convince only your oldest child that eating boogers is a disgusting habit, it’s kind of hard to read these inspirational quotes about homemaking without getting a little snarky. I mean, the day-to-day life of a homemaker is not remotely as grand as these memes would have you believe.
So I made my own meme.
I call this meme, “Reality with Cankles,” or, “My First Pathetic Attempt to Add Words to a Picture in Microsoft Paint, Which Sadly Took 37 Minutes Even Though I Never Figured Out How to Center the Text or Fix the ‘is’ So it’s Legible.” You’re welcome.
Since this is already pretty much the best New Year’s Eve post ever written on a blog, I’d better stop before I awesome it up too much. But I want to know: what’s your New Year’s Eve confession? What irritates you, infuriates you, or in the words of P-Dub, makes your skirt fly up? And most importantly, what did you really do with that leftover Halloween candy? Because everyone knows that gnomes only eat underwear. Don’t worry, my combox will safely keep your secrets in full view of the keyboard-wielding masses until the internet ends.
Happy New Year! Here’s wishing you champagne and kisses!