January 10, 2012


So I just haven't felt funny recently. Like, at all. Last night I tried writing about my last trip to the Goodwill Donation Station and how it was a total white & nerdy mom fail, and I had such a painful look on my face while typing (and maybe the fact that Rob witnessed me yelling at the somewhat trying kids 27 times - what? Did I just call my kids somewhat trying? Sorry. I meant horribly annoying and caustic) that Rob finally brought them to the living room (away from The Worst Mom Ever) to play games.

I think it has something to do with my New Years resolution of "I resolve to get organized so I can be a stress-free and terrific wife and mother [so I won't yell at people and be too grumpy to join in on family games by the fire]."

Okay, so that last part may have been added last night. But, really, there's a ton of junk that weighs on my mind and keeps me from focusing on the family: digital photos to organize and backup, music to add to my iPhone, draperies to finish sewing, the dryer to stack on the washer to make room for the cat liter to finally remove litter chunks that are exuberantly pawed out of the litter box and continuously tracked all over our room and somehow manage to work their way into our bed. I mean, seriously. Overwhelming First World issues here, folks.

But the problem is that in getting organized, I turn into The Freak Formerly Known as Jacoba and become a more stress-ridden and horrible wife and mother who can't find anything funny in her life.

And this is why I shouldn't make resolutions. They leave nothing but failure and ridicule in their wake.

Like the time I found my diary from high school and uncovered a New Year's resolution from 10th grade: I will only eat two bowls of cereal for breakfast. (For real?? That was an actual goal I set for myself? Was I secretly a teenage boy in my youth?)

Or like the time we found a notebook that belonged to one sister (who shall remain nameless) with a list of summer resolutions. Along with Only spend $1.00 on candy each day was written Change my underwear twice a week.

[Let's observe a moment of silence to reflect on the implications here.]

See? Ridicule. (I'm personally hoping against "failure" on this one.)

Maybe I should just drop my other resolution for 2012: "I resolve to eat like a normal human being for a month so I stop considering sticking an entire block of cheese in my mouth at any given moment." My post-Christmas-stretched-to-the-size-of-a-bowling-ball stomach keeps looking around for edible items to fill its cavernous gaps.

Unfortunately, without this resolution in place, the cats would not be safe. Not from me eating them. (What kind of person do you take me for? *snort of disgust*) From me pouring their daily scoop of cat food directly down my throat of course.

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