It’s six days in. Six days since I started my Resolution of the Decade: drinking eight glasses of water each day. This was something I used to do on an hourly basis when I lived in Bangkok. It’s harder to drink water in the freezing Canadian winter, but I soldier on, imbibing H20 like it’s free or something. This drinking water thing has made me feel part of the food chain, in that what-goes-in-must-come-out way. Suffice it to say that my family has seen less of me because of frequent trips to the loo.
Resolutions are dandy, but I still prefer making them for other people, especially people I love. Before having kids, my husband was number one on this list.
“Have you made any resolutions yet?” I’d ask.
“Why?” he’d inquire, suspiciously.
“Because I was thinking that maybe you could start to…” And I’d continue with some list item, like rub my feet every day, swear less, or make me breakfast in bed every Saturday.
Now that my twins are kindergartners, though, they’ve developed habits that annoy me. I’m still trying to figure out at what point do-no-wrong-babies turn into mischievous-preschoolers-in-need-of-a-timeout, but that might spiral into a conversation about original sin or at least the Terrible Twos, both discussions I’d rather not have.
If I were to make resolutions for Vivian, here they are. Resolution One: she needs to stop sucking on her hair. It’s limp and stringy as it is; dried saliva isn’t exactly the product of choice. Resolution Two: In keeping with the saliva theme, Vivian needs to chew with her mouth closed so dinner time doesn’t involve a lengthy close up of the digestion process’s first stage.
William, Vivian’s twin, is not immune to my resolutions. His first resolution should be to stop biting his cuticles and peeling his nails. I haven’t clipped them since he was one. And perhaps I should invest the money I’m saving from drinking water into Band-Aid’s stock because I’m constantly sticking one on William’s bleeding cuticles. His second resolution needs to be to stop slamming the toilet lid. It might sound minor, but at 4 a.m. it’s a wake-up call for the entire household.
Good thing I’m so damn perfect that all I have to do is hydrate.
To be fair, I asked my five-year-olds what I could be better at. Vivian said I could be better at finding things. On nights like tonight, I think she’s onto something. I could be better at finding things, like my sanity.
William said I could be better at telling stories. And given the potty-humour evident in this blog, he may be right.