an auspicious start!

a distracted person's guide to hitting the ground running in the new year.

Your heroine and her untangled chain.

I am delighted to tell you that I am starting the New Year having succeeded in untangling the tiny gold chain I found forgotten in the bottom of my sock drawer. A bit of olive oil and two sewing needles did the trick, as did keeping the chain resting beneath my wrists as I stared blankly at my laptop trying to think up something sage to share in the New Year. Should you need to detangle a chain, I recommend this approach, which is simple enough: Every few minutes, abandon your work to engage in some light jewelry surgery, until, some hours later, the knot finally loosens and you’re free to begin the work that may or may not actually pay your bills.

Alas, as for me, before I could properly begin again, I needed to pee and when I went to the bathroom I noticed a suspicious yellow stain on the shower curtain that likely appeared after a “bathroom emergency” of the sort that comes with multiple small children living in an apartment with only one toilet. The curtain would have to be soaked, of course, and so I filled the bottom of the tub with scalding hot water and tossed in more than the prescribed amount of oxygen bleach.

A fresh start!

With a few thoughts pulled from the cobwebby recesses of my post-Christmas brain, I realized it was past time for lunch, which required unpacking the dishwasher, which necessitated reorganizing the cabinet where we keep our dishes, which reminded me how infuriating it is to live with someone who slides stainless steel straws onto the shelf instead of plopping them upright into the mason jar where they so obviously belong. Several reheated New Year’s Eve hors-d’oeuvres later and I felt fortified enough to forget the straws and return to my desk to finish the anti-public-airing-of-resolutions screed, of which I had written two sentences.

Unfortunately, my desk, being made of wood, reminded of the balsa wood airplane kit I bought my soon-to-be-seven-year-old for his birthday next week. The kit came with instructions written in German, so barring achieving fluency in the coming week, I would have to transcribe said German into Google Translate if I were to have any hope of building it with my child and making birthday dreams come true. Easy, there were only five paragraphs. Even in English the instructions remain baffling and I’m already anticipating our failure to properly set the flight trajectory, but not to worry, we will be sure to viel Spaß!

Back to it!

It, being scrutinizing all 1,347 emails abandoned in my promotions tab over the course of December, to ensure they could be safely deleted and did not contain the key to my future success. (One can never be too careful.) Having established that none of the emails held promise of fame or fortune, I deleted them all, feeling light with the knowledge that as long as I could studiously avoid that awful all-caps email from my accountant, my new year inbox would be one thing absolutely not getting in my way of getting to work and starting the year off right.

My computer screen, on the other hand, was frightening, and so a good swab with rubbing alcohol was absolutely required, which reminded me of the Nutella smear I had spotted on my child’s chair this morning, which made me feel like it was probably time for a little snack, but—my god—another rearrange was in order. No matter. This is my process.

Whatever it takes to get the creative juices flowing!

For instance, downloading a parenting book from the library that maybe has the answer for how to peaceably transition after card games that a certain child did not win. Might also contain the clues for getting a particular child to stop shouting at neighbors they nearly run off the sidewalk with their scooter. Could also likely be applicable to someone’s occasional tendency to stomp on their sibling’s belly when they simply will not stop pretending to be a dog. Nothing says Happy New Year like considering all of the ways you’ve already failed as a parent.

Onward!

A New Year is a moment for reflection. In my case, the reflection of my own tear-streaked face in the now-clean computer screen as I pore over pictures of a rusty forty-year-old station wagon somewhere in New Hampshire.

Luckily, by now, there are mushrooms that everyone will definitely enjoy on the stove, and without the late afternoon sun glinting through the kitchen windows, I hardly noticed the jelly smear on the dishwasher door.

Happy New Year, friends. I don’t have all the answers, but I’m sure glad you’re here.