Proper full on back-to-school blues. That lugging Sunday night feel. I keep trying to hold William and sniff him and have profound moments but he keeps shrugging me off and telling me he’s bored and this is the worst day of his life.
I drop Alex at nursery for a few hours so Monday isn’t such a blow. He cries. I cry. William cries.
I suggest a cinema trip. A soft play venture. A lunch out. All of them will be ‘rubbish’. We stay at home.
It’s still the worst day of William’s life ever.
I put some laundry away.
We mope about.
We go and pick up Alex who’s had a great day.
I take all these as a sign the spell has broken and normality beckons.
In the corner of the living room the artificial Christmas tree is wilting.
Deep down, I know New Year’s resolutions are patriarchal pants designed to make us naval gaze our way in to a vegan diet but I do like a fresh start. Like that feeling at primary school when you got a new exercise book and vowed to keep in maximum neat with best handwriting.
And so despite myself, I’m going in to 2019 with a few things to hothouse.
1) Make the children more independent
They need to lay the table, put their dirty washing in the basket, empty the dishwasher etc. I need to stop mollycoddling them- there are already enough entitled white boys in the world.
2) Create an office space.
Somewhere in the house. Just a small spot-big enough for a laptop and a tidy exercise book.
3) Write more.
I’m 16,000 words in to a novel and have been for about eight months. Get on with it!
(Wonder if that’s the most common [and most w**ky] resolution ever?)
4) Ace a mega deadlift
100kg or bust. Plus master a handstand. #dreams
5) Other noble and aspirational targets for the better and good of society etc
I don’t think resolutions should be used to beat ourselves up or starve ourselves or treadmill our bodies as punishment or reflect endlessly on our foibles and flaws but I do think there’s a value in taking a moment to consider what worked well in the year just gone and to have a momentary self-indulge in what we would like for ourselves in the year to come. Surely that’s even a little bit feminist…?