Resolution Schmesolution

I love New Year. I get swept up in the feeling of newyeariness and the promise of wiping the slate clean (and clearing out the mouldy cheese/neglected dips from the fridge). I think resolutions are naturally a part of that, and though I don't officially announce any goals for the New Year, I have usually silently considered what they are by the time New Year's Day arrives.

Mainly, I'm talking about food-related pledges - following that post-Christmas limbo week of snacking on turkey and cheese and Terry's chocolate orange (for breakfast) I actually quite fancy a salad. I also make vows about increased exercise activity because my jeans won't do up and the idea of some kind of power walk or mammoth swim sounds quite appealing. I start making noises about digging out my running clothes from that time in 2009 when I did Race for Life...

Then there are the parenting resolutions. I blogged about my failed bash at those (and about Supermum and her fucking chicken) last year, concluding that the whole exercise was pointless because you are no more able to shake up your routines and behaviours on the 1st January than you are at any other time of year.

And yet here I am, on the first day of another new year, feeling slightly tempted once more to try and better myself as a parent by making promises I won't keep. Promises like: shouting and sighing less, restricting the kids' TV-watching, cooking a wider variety of  meals where vegetables don't come out of a tin, being 'present' in the moment (and not absorbed in work emails/Facebook stalking on my phone)...

I can't see myself sticking to any of those. So, I thought I'd take a pragmatic view and set just one resolution I have a hope in hell of keeping:

I'm going to get out more.

I don't mean on a night out (though an increased frequency of drinking and dancing to something that isn't the Paw Patrol 'Pup Pup Boogie' would be welcome). I mean get out more with the kids. To visit people and places and get our arses out of the house. Because even weighing up the public tantrums and tears and risks of dirty protests in National Trust tearooms, I still cope a gazillion times better with parenthood when I'm out and about. A change of scene. Different places. Different faces. Different soft play locations to get my socks wet in.

So that's it. Just one resolution this year that is designed to benefit us all (if we go out more there will be absolutely no need to ever contemplate indoory shit like crafting or baking, which is fine by me). I'm looking forward to braving some new adventures. Though I'm a tad hungover today, so our adventuring will have to start tomorrow...

Once I've finished my porridge and cleared a 10k jog, obviously :-)