Are You a Member of the 2018 Resolutionists?

BY STACEY HATTON
Columnist
JANUARY 05, 2018

Welcome, 2018! You have no idea how much you are appreciated. Last year was challenging for many, so I’m not alone in bigly appreciating a fresh start.

I’m not one for joining the masses by spending hours crafting the ideal annual resolution. To me, it’s just a waste of time and energy.

But in college, I loved coming up with a theme for the new year. The problem was that I was a classic resolution procrastinator. I’d wait to the last minute to brainstorm and, surprising to no one, was unable to come up with anything adequate at midnight after drinking too much bubbly.

Creativity and focus can be complicated by alcohol; hence, get rid of resolutions.

Recently, various people on social media have been calling out their 2018 pledges. I enjoy reading what other people are going to be regretting after a few months — or, for some, several days.

It seems the type of resolutions people have can be divided into several classic groups: the planners, the hopeful but unorganized, and the delusional.

The first kind of New Year’s Resolutionist is the overachieving taskmaster. Everyone either knows of somebody with this affliction, or you are one of the irritating goal-setters who actually stick with plans and obtain them.

Even though I respect and appreciate these folks, I won’t be asking them to join me any time soon for cocktails and hot wings at Applebee’s. I’m sure they are busy training for their next marathon anyway.

“Marjorie, darling. We must run a 5K every month, leading up to November’s New York City Marathon! Cheers to 2018 with our homemade distilled, bubbling cucumber water.”

The next group is for the hopeful, yet disorganized. A pleasant group with candy-cane wishes and champagne dreams, but their hopes are fleeting and often short-winded.

Sometimes their resolutions for the upcoming year don’t even make it through the end of the week, but can be forgotten by sunrise of Jan. 1.

“My resolution is I’m going to write down everything I eat. Shirley, can you pass me a pen and paper? *while stuffing a box of Christmas candy into her mouth* Oh, never mind! I’ll remember to write it down later!”

The remaining people are quick to make up super fabulous New Year’s resolutions in order to fit in or win a self-imposed, imaginary contest to have the best resolution. I lovingly call these narcissists, the blatant liars.

Often they pull a top-notched resolution out of their hat and toss it into the wind to never be remembered or realized.

C’mon! Who really believes that Frank, the manager from the A&P, is finishing his doctorate in Astrophysics and scheduled to launch the Millennium Falcon next month?

I can relate with the second group of dreamers, because I used to be one. If you repeatedly plan to shed those last few pounds or plan on starting your second daughter’s baby book (11 years after her birth), you probably fit in this category.

Whether you are able, unable or don’t give a hoot about reaching your New Year’s resolution, I have one wish for you all: May you have love, peace, success, and an ever-lasting supply of Happy Hour coupons in 2018!

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Heading into 2012 Literally Speaking

previously published on January 7, 2012 in The Kansas City Star

The final weeks of 2011 were to be calm, pleasant and focused on family, all the while devoid of stress.
The presents were all nestled under the tree and holiday cards were dashed away by government employees muttering prayers of keeping their underappreciated jobs. Hopes of relaxing among kinfolk and roasting marshmallows by the hearth were next on my to-do list. But as all holidays and dreams go, it didn’t quite go as planned.
Instead 2011 closed with a bang forever engraved in this mother’s memory. Not by grandiose fireworks or with the eternally anticlimactic “Christmas crackers” — those blasted end-of-dinner-foil-wrapped-pull-toys opened by great-grandmas. (And after consuming one too many glasses of Riesling, then donning the paper hat from her cracker, she replaces her dentures with orange rinds and sings Auld Lang Syne. Is that just my family?)
Oh no, if my relations are to ring out the old year, we’re going to ring that bell! Therefore, in honor of decked halls, my youngest decided to clang the back of her cranium with such force on a franchise restaurant’s steel bench that I, a pediatric nurse, will never be the same. She’s fine now. Me…not so much.
If you have ever experienced a cut to the head — minuscule or large — you are well aware it can gross out well-seasoned medical staff and create superb plots for Hollywood thrillers, South Park episodes and video games (rated “M” for mature audiences).
Thankfully, my daughter did not lose consciousness, orientation or innards, so I was able to jerry-rig a contraption that got her noggin to temporarily cease bleeding and avoid more screaming by calling an ambulance. Boys may think ambulances are cool. Girls, not really.
So with a little scotch tape, a fry chef hat and a bean bag toy, (not really, but that would have been a cool fix), my youngest was stable and we headed to the ER. Then I attempted the most difficult task of all: contacting my husband.
Apparently when I’m in an emergency situation, I can only effectively handle the role of nurse. Not mom, wife, or transportation gal. Example: I speed-dialed my neighbor three times trying to reach my husband. She finally said she would take over and call my husband since I was incapacitated. Thank you, neighbor No. 1.
My next problem was getting my oldest picked up from school in 30 minutes, but alas, I wasn’t capable of doing that, either, or even figuring out how to get someone to pick her up. So I called responsible neighbor No. 2. She was going to pick up my child, so I needed to call the school to arrange it stat. Love her! For this lack of parenting 101 skills, I’m sure to get Mom of the Year.
Three staples in my precious cherub’s head later, a hug that lasted until she said, “Mom, are you done yet?” and ice cream and toys a-plenty, we all managed to survive my child’s first concussion.
I say “first” because if you notice the size of her mother’s head this is to not be the last of her head bonks. With our genetically enlarged craniums (due to the extra brain portion which is explicitly used for sarcasm), gravity will surely play another nasty role in the ringing of her bells.
Until our next adventure, I hope you and yours have a safe and conscious 2012!
Stacey Hatton is a pediatric registered nurse, writer and public speaker. Her humor blog can be found at http://nursemommylaughs.com.
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