What I Hope For In 2019 But Not In A Resolution Way

Do you ever think about whether making New Year’s resolutions changes your behavior? Does writing down a fitness goal make you stick to it? For some, the mere act of making a list is a reminder each day to go to the gym rather than checking Netflix’s recommendations. For others, it’s something that feels like a laughing, etched-in-stone reminder of being a failure.

I don’t do official resolutions now, although I have fond memories of making them as a child. It was cozy and warm, sitting on our living room floor, the Christmas tree still twinkling, drinking sparkling apple cider while writing resolutions alongside my brothers and parents. We penned them on legal-sized yellow notebooks, and read previous years to one another, laughing or embarrassed about what was kept, broken, and – in hindsight – was dumb to have resolved to do in the first place.

Even now, I remember the pressure to think of something good. Worthy of being called a resolution, read aloud for years to come.

That’s probably why I no longer write them in a yellow notebook. I do, however, think about things I want to change about myself and my own “ways-I-can-change-it” world in the coming year.

What I Hope For In 2019 But Not In A Resolution Way

I try to keep my non-resolution-resolutions broader than I used to so I’ll hang on to them more tightly. Often, they begin with a single moment.

Following are a few of my hopes for 2019 and the moments that preceded them.

Doing homework last night, my baby (who will turn double digits in 2019) snuggled up and hugged me tightly. He sniffed my arm, the way he used to in public when public smelled “bad.” “Bad” meant cleaning supplies, mixed food-court menu items, perfume, or general-nobody-but-Tucker-could-smell odors.

And just like that, between his hug and flashbacks to younger years, I resolve (not in a resolution way) to help make more opportunities for those moments. I resolve to remember each one as they come, knowing it probably won’t be long before I can’t remember the last time my son sniffed my arm for mom-scent against the too-often bad smells of public. The world.

I remind myself to settle in close over math problems on a weekday evening. I resolve (not in a resolution way) to breathe during them, and to soak them in. Too often, moments right before and right after these are peppered with my too-harsh voice and my too-hard look when he’s not doing homework and making a mess and “I’m just trying to cook your dinner here” and hearing “No offense Mom, but I’m a little tired of your recipe for quesadillas.” He definitely got the look and the too-harsh “Well, come on then and make dinner for the rest of us” voice. He ate the quesadilla.

I think about homework time and him smelling my arm the way he did when he was three, and five, and I’m pretty sure he won’t do that when he’s 20 unless he sneaks it in, and I’m so damn grateful for the innocence he has to sniff me or hold my hand publically now that I cry a little, over too-fast years.

I guess that means I have a non-official New Years resolution of hanging on to the moments I appreciate. Remember them. Remember my today-son, and the mixed-in evolutions of my then-son.

“Mom, can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Baby. You can tell me anything.”

I always hope for deep insight into his heart and soul, but often end up learning about how a YouTuber solved a level in Minecraft or Legend of Zelda. Last night, the “Can I tell you something” after his first keyboard class was “Say ‘Virginia’ without the ‘r’ and make the first ‘i’ an ‘a,’ Mom.” I almost reminded him he had to finish practicing his song but ended up rolling my eyes and laughing because his giggle is so darn infection and musical in itself.

That, too became a hope for 2019 but not in a resolution way, because official resolutions aren’t something I’ve been good at for many years.

“Laugh at him thinking the words ‘vagina’ and ‘penis’ are hilarious,” I thought. “Revel in the stories you’ll remember later, when he’s being a stinky teen in more than one way.”

Can “Cherish the time before your son is a stinky teen,” be a hope for 2019? Most definitely. It’s one of mine.

A few other not-resolution hopes for 2019 include:

Not worrying about not looking like I used to. If I died at 20 or 32, I’d be young forever, but that’s no way to live. And, likely, given the age, no way to die, either.

Find my writing passion again. It used to be so easy for me to stay up until 2:00 a.m. because I had an idea, and couldn’t stop after Tucker went to bed. Now? I don’t know what to write. This year, I’m going to dig up that elusive mojo even if I have to do so while it kicks at me in the form of negative self talk.

Self talk. As my son gets older, he knows how I talk to myself. I want to talk to myself the way I speak to him. My friends. Other people I love.

And that’s really it. That’s what I hope for in 2019 but not in a resolution way because I don’t need a laughing list hanging out on my refrigerator that’ll take too long to be buried by school papers and drawings. If I remember the moments, and the joy I felt when Tucker sniffed my arm (such a weird thing I know, but it’s ours), I think I can remember my resolve to cherish them as they come, which will mean I’ll have the ability to cherish new ones as they develop. Even when he becomes a stinky teen.

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This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post. What do YOU hope for in 2019? Do you do resolutions? We’d love for you to share them (or why or why you don’t do them) with us. My fabulous co-host Kerri of Undiagnosed and Okay and I host a prompt each week (for now – she may need to retire due to life like Kenya had to) and this week’s sentence is “In 2019 I want…” or hope…or a list of resolutions.