Resolutions, Old and New

2015? How did we get here? 16 years on, it still doesn't look right to start each year with a 2. I miss the millennium of my youth.

Of course the new year is a natural time for self-reflection. My resolutions are modest this year: drink less soda, and exercise more. I am hoping that by setting a low, vague bar I may actually be able to make these small steps towards living a healthier life. (And as of this writing, I am still soda-free in 2015, and have even made it to the gym three times. Perhaps change is possible.)

As far as parenting is concerned, I have realized that I have a long way to go before I am the father I want my kids to have. I have no patience in the evening; I have even less in the mornings. I sweat the small stuff and the big stuff. I forget that my 7-year old can't really be expected to sit down and do his homework all by himself, and that my 5-year old can't really be expected to make rational decisions 100% of the time, and that my 2-year old can't really be expected to act any different than how all other third children act (which, if you don't have one, is 50% pageant queen and 50% frat girl.) I too often enjoy parenting in the abstract while hating it in the moment. This means if you ask me, "do you enjoy being a parent of three?" I will say to you, in all truth, that I love every minute of it, even though I dread the process of getting the kids out of the house in the morning, and even though I dread giving Lucia a bath most nights. Somehow, these two feelings of love and dread are not mutually exclusive.

(To illuminate the bath thing a bit, a recent story: Lucia was terrified of a single strand of hair floating in her bath last night, and screamed until I took it out. And both tonight and last night, she was scared to tears by a bumblebee that only she could see. "Daddy, I scared! Bumblebee!" she said. "Where is the bumblebee?" I asked, pointing at every dot on the bathroom floor, and every mark on the rug. "Is it here? Is it here?" She couldn't tell me. She just kept saying she was scared, and nearly flipped out when I brought the little fish-shaped rug close to her so she could show me. I'm hoping this is just a 2-day drama and not the beginning of a longer obsession.)

In my most honest moments, I grasp that I alone am responsible for improving my parenting. And I generally know what to do. Positive parenting requires discipline, on my part--going to bed earlier, getting up earlier, preparing lunches the night before, and not letting the small bumps in the schedule turn into giant potholes. And, of course, it requires me to remember that I did actually want a family of my own, and that I do love them all very much. So what if I am 20 minutes late to work because Celia needs more time to get ready? Nobody cares (except for me). Perhaps if I can get into a consistent no-soda/pro-exercise regimen, I will have developed enough confidence to improve my sleeping and emotional behavior, too.

2014 was tough at times. I worked a lot to try to bring in extra cash, though it feels like it hardly made a dent. This also meant that things that mattered to me--like this blog, taking photos, and being a patient parent--fell by the wayside for months at a time. I simply didn't have the time or the energy to do anything well.

But these years are precious, and it's on me to make 2015 better than 2014. Andres is 7. Seven. How did that happen? I remember being 7. I've been waiting all these years for him to grow up, and now here he is, a fully-formed kid with a personality and attitude all his own. I need to seize these days with him. And Celia, too. As for Lucia...I can't imagine I'll ever be nostalgic for the days when she was two. (Though when she said "dance with me!" the other day, my heart almost broke. She is a good kid.)

A new year. I'll see how far I make it without soda and with exercise. I'm still reasonably optimistic. The parenting resolutions are more important, though, and probably harder, too. But if those are the only ones I keep, then I'll still count 2015 a success, even if I am swimming in Dr. Pepper by the end of it.