I’ll start this new year like much of the population, I imagine, full of great intentions.
The list of planned resolutions is already almost the length of my arm, as it tends to be most years, because the new year feels like the perfect time to start afresh.
There’s something mildly terrifying, however, about starting a new year – even more so when that year sees the beginning of a new decade.
The curse of over-sentimentality strikes again as I look back with rose-tinted glasses over the past 12 months and in this case over the past decade.
Because life isn't all a bed of roses and there've been times I've almost regretted parenthood, not because I don't adore being a mother, but because I can't protect them from everything, as I wish I could
Seven were just four at the beginning of the 10s. Three more fireballs of energy burst on to the scene as the decade progressed, leaving trails of mashed banana, poo-nami streaked vests and two seriously sleep-deprived parents in their wakes. But sure it was grand, because as Del Boy says “sleep is for wimps”.
And life reached a level of busyness I never thought possible, but in between the frustrations, restrictions and inability to purchase a pint of milk without loading the ever-squabbling Brady Bunch (plus one!) into the car, there was a realisation that I had struck gold. The large family I had always wanted was mine.
And then I take off the glasses for a moment and look back on the parts that weren’t so rosy – the sad times, the hard times, the worrying times and the times I felt helpless. The things I could do nothing about and the pain I couldn’t ease. Because life isn’t all a bed of roses and there’ve been times I’ve almost regretted parenthood, not because I don’t adore being a mother, but because I can’t protect them from everything, as I wish I could. There is a vulnerability about loving someone or some people so much.
I remember once having a conversation with my GP as I felt overwhelmed by all that life demanded – the struggle to juggle, the worry and the stresses that have come to make up so much of modern family life. He suggested we write down what was important and what needed to be done, in order of priority.
The end of the list contained the luxurious things, like downtime, that only happened if the planets aligned and there was time left over – the fluff really.
He turned the list on its head. “These things you’ve put at the end are actually the most important,” he explained while I looked at him as if he hadn’t quite understood. “We don’t have back up,” I reiterated. “It’s just us two and those seven and there is only so much time. The other stuff, we have to do.”
“If you don’t prioritise the things you’ve listed last, you won’t be able to keep doing the things you’ve listed first,” he replied.
So high up on that long list of new year and new decade resolutions is a determination to make lots of new memories and a plan to turn that priorities list on its head again
I knew it made sense but it’s not easy to do without support and so best intentions became just that. What was begun was soon forgotten, as hobbies and interests fell by the wayside to make way for yet more of modern life’s pressures and priorities.
As the decade draws to a close I can’t help but compare where we were at the start and where we are now. The house we bought as a fixer-upper is still a fixer-upper, but it’s very much a home. And it’s not just our numbers that have grown. Three of those who begun the decade with us, have overtaken me in height and one has reached adulthood. Nothing stays the same, no matter how much we might like it to. Time seems to have passed in the blink of an eye and I wonder if I’ve made enough memories.
So high up on that long list of new year and new decade resolutions is a determination to make lots of new memories and a plan to turn that priorities list on its head again. To revisit that search for a better work-life balance and set an example for the most precious people in the world to me. And most importantly to be truly present.
And then there’ll be the perennial appearances. Maybe 2020 will be the year I finally join that drama group I’ve spoken about joining for so long or acquire those buns of steel I deserve after so many years of pushing prams and scooters up the hilly school walk. And maybe, just maybe I’ll make my first million.
This time next year Rodders . . . they’ll probably still be on the list.