promises, promises

Happy New Year! It was an interesting night round about these parts. After midnight, due to some bizarre poker game bet, all nine teenage boys stripped down to their skivvies and went running down our local lane, blowing noisemakers and yelling. Thank goodness no cars passed them or we may have had to post some serious bail. They only paused when they returned to the house to find the doors locked and all the lights out thanks to my prankster husband. We let them back in—eventually.

We are just about cleaned up and cleaned out after the onslaught, and I finally had time to think about New Year's resolutions. I heard an interesting piece on the radio Monday night, an interview with someone who doesn't do resolutions. In his view, resolutions are restrictions just waiting to be broken; it's only a matter of time, and we pretty much know that when we make them.

So instead, he makes promises to himself. Promises are easier to keep than resolutions, because they are positive instead of punitive, especially if you focus on what you are getting in return. A promise is a treat. A reward. Something to look forward to rather than chafe against.

My dear friend M. texted me this morning with a proposed shared resolution: "one hour a day to eat bon bons, catch flies [presumably not for the purpose of helping someone practice baseball], scratch our [butts], or do anything for ourselves."

I agreed that it was a great sentiment, though I suspected that hour would fall between 1 and 2 a.m. Still, I am going to promise to take time each day to do something for myself, whether that is exercising or knitting or just sitting staring at the endless piles of laundry.

What is your promise?

Snow in a robin's nest.