Where did the year go? I feel like I was just writing my 2013 resolutions; now I’m supposed to do it all again for 2014? Fine. Bring it. This plays in nicely to my theme for the next twelve months: “Become a bad a$%.”
That’s right. I’m done with the lame promises to paint my family room. It’s yellow, I hate it, but I have more important things to address. I’m tossing the unrealistic dreams of spending quality individual time at night with my children. There’s four of them and only one of me and my bedtime is before theirs. And I’m burying the “curse less” vow. Dropping the f-bomb is funny and liberating and I like it. So there!
Nope, this year my one focus will be on transforming myself into a middle-aged Katniss Everdeen, who can hold her own in any situation from a zombie apocalypse to a dance mom meeting. To that end, here are my New Year Resolutions for 2014. As always, feel free to mock, mimic and/or judge.
1. Earn pistol certification. I learned how to fire a shotgun and a rifle in the fall, but I still need proficiency with a handgun. Sorry Katniss, but a bow just doesn’t seem practical. Arrows don’t seem appropriate for ballet recitals.
2. Do twenty push-ups. Not the baby, on-your-knees kind, but the honest-to-God GI Jane-style that will have my upper body ripped and ready to both defend against a feral dog attack and/or break-up a teenage girl fight.
3. Skin a deer. It won’t do me any good to kill my food if I can’t access the meat. My plan is to sweet talk Doo into taking me along on one of his hunting trips to show me the ropes. As long as I fart and curse and don’t vomit at the sight of spilled intestines, I should do fine.
4. Explore the art of crock-pot cooking. Today’s dystopian hero, a.k.a. supermom, must be able to work full-time and serve an occasional hot meal that doesn’t originate from Kraft. I hope to experiment my way through all thirty recipes in my new “Crockpots and You” book, and possibly invent a little venison number that’s, as my mom would say, “To die for!”
5. Learn to whistle with my fingers. Every bad a$% should be able to summon her minions on demand. ‘Nough said.
My quest to be 2014 Hunger Games-worthy begins now. May the odds ever be in my favor, and yours as well! Peace out.