Here We Go Again

So, it's a new year, and with the chugging of Champagne and the falling of balls (in Times Square, not a comment on my husband) (or son), comes my insatiable need to resolve.  And among those resolutions is perpetually my promise to write regularly and in a disciplined manner.  Not necessarily for anyone else, but for me.  It is one of the few things I really come by naturally, and I just keep not trying.

I don't really have anything useful to share.  I don't really think most people with blogs do, though.  I can't seem to get interested enough in anyone or anything to follow any blogs so I don't really think anyone would follow mine.  I don't even think I knew others could see these ramblings until today.  I noticed someone from Mombai had actually commented on one of my posts.

Things that make you say, "huh."

How boring (or fascinating) is that person?  What could she (or he) possibly have gleaned from the goings-on of a housewife in Kansas?  And then he (she?) was moved to comment.  Did this Mombaian actually read my entire rant about buying a mattress?

Huh.

I really want to write for me.  I guess I don't mind if others read along.  I just don't think I am comfortable with people I know reading along.  But maybe I will be if I write anonymously for long enough, consistently enough.  Maybe I can gain the confidence and consistency I crave if nameless, faceless people read my ramblings.  Maybe, then, I could have the courage to write more frequently, more publicly, more.

Huh.

It bears thinking about.

So, for today, here's what I know:  I love my house, I just think it is too cluttered and I worry that I may be verging on hoarder status.  I am crazy about my kids.  Period.  Right now.  They both do things that make me nuts on occasion, but sitting here right now, with them back in school after 11 days, two holidays and a pink eye scare, I am crazy about my kids.  I love and like my husband.  Usually.  He has some stuff that absolutely irks me, but I do, too, him.  Sidebar, I had WAY TOO MUCH to drink on New Year's Day night.  No reason, no one else, just me.  Dumb.  He was so put out with me on January 2, rightfully so.  I said to him then, and I still hold to be true, "I know I am so lucky to have you and sometimes I think I just try to sabotage it."

He replied, "Me, too."

Just that.  "Me, too."

What a gift, that.  Accepting my apology, accepting his own culpability.  Forgiving (while not forgetting or expecting me to forget his shit).  Moving forward.  Together.  I love and like that.  A lot.

I like my friends, but I think I need to work on that area of my life.  I need to work to strengthen friendships with women.  I am so reticent to put myself out there.  I don't call, I don't make plans, I don't just check in, I don't chat.  I think I should.  I hope I will.  Resolved.

I can be so much more organized, in my closet, in my kitchen, in my job, in my volunteering, for my kids, about holidays and birthdays, with my family, for my mother-in-law. . .  the list goes on and on.  But it all comes down to organization.  Everyone wins.  Even me.

My friend, Susan, says for her it all comes down to energy -- her buzzword for 2013.  That's good, too. But I think I'm sticking with organization.  And pray it works.

So, house, kids, husband I have my head around.  Job is good.  Friends are okay.

My prayer and my goal each day is that I will be good and okay and organized and everything will get better as I get better myself.

Happy New Year!