The Thing with New Year's Resolutions

I’ve never been much for New Year’s Resolutions. Mostly, it’s because I already have enough work to do — especially once Lucy came along. Also, I am a naturally lazy person. The way I see it, making New Year’s resolutions is a chore. And keeping them is even worse.

I guess I could resolve to be less lazy about this. But on second thought, I’d think rather just make easier resolutions.

I’ll be proud of myself if, in 2002, I can stop wiping Lucy’s nose with my sleeve. This means I will have to use a tissue, which means I’ll have to go out and get some at the store. The store! Like I have time for that! Argh. It's already sounding like a lethal dose of work.

Now that I think about it, though, I can see that toilet paper will do in a pinch. And toilet paper is not that hard to come by, especially since Lucy really enjoys grabbing the end of the roll and seeing how far she can pull it. Her record to date: four yards.

OK. This is starting to sound like a good resolution. In fact, I might even add a codicil: In addition to stop wiping Lucy’s nose with my sleeve, I will also stop wiping my own nose with my sleeve. If I succeed in this, I might even have less laundry to do. As long as a shirt doesn’t have a lot of snot on it, I don’t see all that much harm in hauling it out of the laundry basket for an encore performance. Especially because the most exotic place I ever go is to the store, to buy more toilet paper.

This is what I call a good New Year’s resolution: one that will ultimately save me work. So, I guess I can squeeze in some more. Here goes:

I hereby resolve to stop using candy to get Lucy to do things. Even though we still have Halloween leftovers, and even though M&Ms get her into a car seat almost as fast as I can say M&M, I know this is going to make me sorry later, when I have to get her into the dentist’s chair. You just can’t say “If you get into the examination chair, I’ll give you a Mallomar,” to three-year-old who’s about to have ten cavities filled.

Also, I will stop using candy to get myself to do things. Although it did help me miraculously find all the weight I lost chasing Lucy up the stairs, my pants are getting too tight again. I’m all for personal growth, just not this kind.

Speaking of achievements, it’s getting to be high time for me to learn more than the first line of various songs. Lately, I’ve been singing a Moulin Rouge-style medley of nursery rhymes, and I’m not pulling it off very well. “The eensy weensy spider had a little lamb” is confusing Lucy, and it’s probably getting on Adam’s nerves.

Also for Adam’s benefit, I will stop pretending to have a stuffy nose when Lucy has an obviously dirty diaper.

Furthermore, I will stop bending over and whispering, “Go toward the light” into the ear of Adam's old, irritable and largely incontinent cat. All that bending is really hard on my back.

I also will stop laughing at Lucy when she says “sit” and “fork.” Even though it sounds as though she’s cursing, she's just learning to talk and she needs my support. On a related note, I will not snicker when I attempt to discipline her. “Draw on the paper, not on your face,” loses its oomph when it’s delivered with wild peals of laughter. To become the credible disciplinarian I need to be to reach her right from wrong, and paper from face, I will practice making stern faces in the bathroom mirror.

Ideally, I will do this after my daily shower, which this year, will happen every day. Now that Adam has grown a beard, my goal will be to keep my leg hair shorter than his beard. God help me if he shaves.

Already, this is the longest New Year’s Resolution List I’ve ever made. It’s worn me out. Let this be a lesson to me to be a little more realistic next year.

Next year, I’ll resolve to keep not doing things I already do not do. For example, I’ll resolve to not start smoking. I also will not start eating bacon-wrapped meats. And I will not start playing street hockey on the highway. Or even in the alley. These things, I know I can do. Or not do. Or something like that.

Now, though, I think I need a nap. If only Lucy would resolve to take one with me.

Santa Time with Toddlers: A Holiday Song Collection Not Found in Stores

Stinky Diapers
(Sung to the tune of “Silver Bells”)

Click here to play melody

Stinky diapers, leaky diapers, hanging down at her knees,
How I wish I’d remembered the wipes.
But I didn’t, and I’m stranded in an airport bathroom
And I’m thinking of using my hands.
Dirty buns...
Were those beans?
I think I have aged 15 years.
Dirty buns...
Boy I’m dumb...
Both of us now are in tears.

The 12 Days of Christmas (with a Toddler)
(Sung to the tune of “The Twelve Days of Christmas”)

Click here to play melody

On the first day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me,
An ornament she took off the tree.

On the second day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took off the tree.

On the third day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took off the tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me
Five, heart-felt shrieks.
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me
Six fists of cat fur,
Five, heart-felt shrieks.
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me,
Seven bites of dog food,
Six fists of cat fur,
Five, heart-felt shrieks.
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me,
Eight unfolded napkins,
Seven bites of dog food,
Six fists of cat fur,
Five, heart-felt shrieks.
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me
Nine kinds of floor lint,
Eight unfolded napkins,
Seven bites of dog food,
Six fists of cat fur,
Five, heart-felt shrieks.
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me
Ten dirty diapers,
Nine kinds of floor lint,
Eight unfolded napkins,
Seven bites of dog food,
Six fists of cat fur,
Five, heart-felt shrieks.
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me,
Eleven pint of drool,
Ten dirty diapers,
Nine kinds of floor lint,
Eight unfolded napkins,
Seven bites of dog food,
Six fists of cat fur,
Five, heart-felt shrieks.
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my toddler gave to me
Twelve minutes’ peace,
Eleven pint of drool,
Ten dirty diapers,
Nine kinds of floor lint,
Eight unfolded napkins,
Seven bites of dog food,
Six fists of cat fur,
Five, heart-felt shrieks.
Four sticky things,
Three tossed meals,
Two unwrapped gifts,
And an ornament she took from the tree.

Rudy the Snot-Nosed Toddler
(Sung to the tune of “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”)

Click here to play melody

Rudy the snot-nosed toddler
Always had a runny nose
And every time you saw him,
You would wish he’d learn to blow.

All of the kids around him
Got his cold when they would play
Rudy the red-nosed toddler
Sickened all his friends this way.

Then one chilly Christmas Eve
His parents got a clue
Let’s leave poor young Rudy home
When he’s got the flu.

Now, Rudy feels much better
And my gosh, his friends do too
Rudy the snot-nosed toddler
Your parents made a wise breakthrough.

The No Song
(Sung to the tune of “Deck the Halls”)

Click here to play melody

Will you eat this lovely dinner?
No, no, no, no, no -- no – no – no – no!
Do you want to go to bed?
No, no, no, no, no -- no – no – no – no!
Can you answer with a “Yes, mom?”
No, no, no. No, no. No – no – no – no!
Ain’t it great to have a toddler?
No, no, no, no, no -- no – No – Well, Yes.

Don’t It Yourself

When I bought my first house, I was 25 years old. I made less than $23,000 a year, which meant the house I could afford had only half a kitchen. Fortunately, it was the bottom half. This was much more useful than the top half, because that’s where my oven and fridge sat. And since I’m short, I didn’t mind that the ceiling came in at about five and a half feet.

It was then that I developed my chops as a do-it-yourselfer. I ripped out the cat-pee-stained carpets with my bare hands. And, using my magical persuasive powers, I convinced everyone I knew that painting the outside of this house would be a great way to spend the summer. Later, when we were first married, Adam and I took on quite a few projects in our condo: a garbage disposal, dishwasher, bathroom floor and washer and dryer.

This is in contrast to the way my family was when I was growing up. We were “don’t-it-yourselfers.” We didn’t hire anyone to fix things. We just left them broken. When the bathroom shower handle broke, for example, we turned it on with a pair of curiously complicated pliers, until about five years later, when Mom and Dad remodeled the bathroom and replaced the old tub with a new shower. It was no big deal having a broken tub. (And neither is the leak in the new shower. They just put towels down on the floor.)

So, when the shower handle broke at Adam’s and my house a few weeks ago, it felt perfectly natural to get out the pliers and call it fixed. A few times, I came out of the shower smelling more meaty than clean, but this is only because I had cooked my back. Getting the temperature right was a bit of a challenge.

Still, I could have lived this way for years, if it hadn’t been for Lucy. Even though she has a bath pig, a rubber duck, a cloth duck, a foam frog, a blue squeaker dog and a fishing net with three willing victims, she fell in love with the pliers. They became her favorite tub toy, perhaps because they were the only ones that left neat rust circles behind.

Pliers, unfortunately, are not a good toy for a child who is learning how to throw. This meant Adam and I were going to have to fix the shower.

Now that I am working from home, though, we think twice before we call in someone to fix a problem. After running my own business, I understand why plumbers and other repairmen charge more to fix a toilet than the toilet cost in the first place. But that doesn’t make hiring them affordable.

Adam decided to tackle this project himself. After much tinkering with all the valves in our old and funky basement, he finally found the one that shut off our water. And then he replaced the handle, as if he'd been doing such things his whole life.

Everything about it was just great until I went downstairs to do some laundry. It was then that I discovered our house had become waterfront property, but not in a good way.

One of the mystery valves that Adam had fiddled with had wept large tears all over the floor. So, instead of the writing work I had planned to do, I spent the morning squatting on the drier and wrapped plumbing tape around the various thready parts of the valve, while Adam held a bucket underneath it. Every so often, we changed jobs so that we could both enjoy the sensation of freezing water squirting up our sleeves.

After two trips to the hardware store, a roll of plumbing tape, and two cases of this gray, ropy stuff we did our best to use, Adam and I had almost fixed the problem. But with plumbing, as with horseshoes and with heart surgery, there is no almost.

And so we have to call a plumber anyway. Not to fix the shower, but to fix the problem we caused by repairing the shower on our own.

Somehow, we found a way to make this cost as much as is humanly possible. In addition to the plumbing fees and the cost of the new handle, we also bought various do-it-yourselfer supplies. I didn’t get any work done, and therefore did not earn any money. And we paid our babysitter to watch Lucy while we failed to stop the leak.

As with so many other things, I’m starting to see the wisdom of my parents’ approach to broken stuff around the house. Don’t-It-Yourself. It will be my new strategy. Unless, of course, Lucy learns how to use pliers while she plays with them.

If she learns how to be a plumber, this parenthood thing might turn out to be profitable.

Three things to talk about besides your kids

Adam and I went out to dinner with some friends recently. And when I say “with some friends,” I don’t mean Lucy and her stuffed pig.

I mean actual friends, like the kind we used to have before we traded them in for a baby. To add even more to the retro flavor of this evening, none of these people had children. Come to think of it, none of them even had pets.

This meant Adam and I were the only ones there with cat hair on our pants and dried goldfish cracker slurry on our shoulders. How do these poor people stay warm and fed without loose fur and already-chewed cookies?

The more I thought about it, the sorrier I felt for my beautiful friends with their fresh haircuts, their clean clothes and their Saran-wrap tight eyelids, which looked as though they hadn’t ever enjoyed the sensation of being pried open at 4 a.m. by the hands of a 15-month-old.

These people spend their days working as lawyers, producers and technology wizards. Where’s the glamour, the prestige? I didn’t have the heart to rub my lifestyle in their faces, so I decided not to talk about how good Lucy and I are getting at clipping her toenails and putting ointment in her creases.

Instead, I focused my conversational efforts on topics other than Lucy altogether.

Later, it occurred to me that, as a public service to parents, I would share my tips on how to have an adult discussion without talking about your children.

The first tip is pretty simple: Don’t start any sentence with “Lucy did the cutest thing,” “You should have seen Lucy yesterday,” or for that matter, even the word, “Lucy.” And don’t use your own child’s name to start a sentence, either.

The key is to find a topic completely unrelated to your child. For example:

1) Talk about something you read. Attached is a sample script you may use.

Oh, I was reading The New Yorker last night. It’s such a wonderful magazine; I can’t get enough of their 20,000-word articles. If only it came in French! Anyhoo, I read the most fascinating story about a certain type of technology that is so revolutionary, experts believe it rivals the wonders of the microchip. Before I read this article, I never knew so much about the disposable diaper. Did you know what diaper scientists call “tinkling”? They call it an insult! Really! (Pause to chuckle and wipe tears of mirth from eyes). If they want to be insulted, I should let them try to change Lucy. She insults my pants all the time!

Oops. That one didn’t go as well as I had hoped. I was doing fine up until the topic of urination came up. And frankly, this happens so often at dinner parties that I can’t recommend this approach, after all. Instead, try this:

2) Talk about something you ate. Feel free to adapt this script for your own use.

[Insert dining partner name here] and I just tried the most charming little restaurant. They serve only food that starts with the letter C. It’s called C-food. Get it? (Pause to raise eyebrows and smile winningly.) The best part is Lucy really likes everything that starts with C, especially cereal and carrots, though they are a choking hazard. Once, she choked at another restaurant and I had to whip her out of the high chair and flip her upside down to get her breathing again. She was fine, although she did vomit on my brother.

Whoops, I seem to have slipped again. On second thought, no one wants to hear about what you ate, no one except your mother. What you really should do is this:

3) Ask someone about their weekend plans. People love it when you take an interest in them. I suggest raising the topic thus:

So, what big adventure do you and [insert significant other’s name here] have planned this weekend? Oh? A last-minute trip to Mexico! That sounds fantastic. Adam and I went there on our honeymoon. It was so nice. (Pause to hear question.) What? No, we haven’t taken any other big trips since then. We thought about going to Morocco, but then decided we’d wait until we could better afford it. But then I got pregnant. Yeah, we haven’t traveled much since Lucy was born, although we do have a big trip to Ohio planned for the holidays. I hope she doesn’t poop on the plane like last time. It was ... wait ... where are you going?

As you can see, with conversational skills like mine, you’re sure to be included in all sorts of fun events with your hip, beautiful, exciting and child-free friends.

But of course, attending them would mean someone else would give your child the last kiss of the night before tucking into bed – someone who might not know how much she hates blankets.

The best party in the world can’t compare to how much I love watching her drift off to sleep in her tiny bed. And, much as I like them, the most glamorous people I know don’t make me smile nearly so quickly when I close my eyes and conjure their faces.

There’s a lot to be said for life without children. But once you’ve had them, who can really talk about anything else?