January 1st

 

If the first day is anything to judge by, this year is going to have its ups and downs.

 

My body has spent today reminding me that I’m not young enough to drink rum at New Year’s Eve parties without repercussions. Cal and I used to go to the pub and not suffer the next day. Those days are gone.

 

Hannah staggered downstairs with her duvet at eleven and tucked herself up on the sofa with a movie. Her friends were still asleep in her room.

 

Cal didn’t surface until noon.  He joined Hannah on the sofa, after a grunt in my direction.

 

Jamie, typical fourteen year old, didn’t arise until two o’clock. I had checked on him a couple of times, but his snores and drool seemed genuine.

 

 

 

 

Cloud sat on my lap as I drank coffee, and looked for attention.

 

“Yes, you’re gorgeous, cat. I know.”

 

She thrust her head up into my neck.

 

“Fabulous, delightful, astounding. There now, is that enough adulation for you?” I picked her up and placed her on the tiled floor. My head pounded.

 

Ignoring the post-party mess in my kitchen, I pulled my new journal towards me. I flicked to the back page and wrote one word – Resolutions.

 

I never thought a year ago that I’d become a resolutions making person. Or rather, that I’d begin to believe in them. I’d always invent some impossible resolution every year, knowing I’d break it within days. Something like giving up chocolate forever or dating Ewan McGregor.

 

Last year, when my Dragon-in-Law gave me a mindfulness journal, I wrote the list for a joke as much as anything. I turned the journal into a diary. I had no idea its pages would record my resolutions coming true. Admittedly I hardly lost any weight but finding a new job to fit in with the family worked, after several false starts. Now I have a market stall and craft party business called The Sewing Mama.

 

Sophie has been helping me with my resolution to “learn how to say No”. She says I’ll get there, eventually.

 

I stared at the page and wondered what resolutions I should target this year. I could repeat the list from last year, most of them still need work. That would be boring though.

 

The first one was easy – keep this diary. Daily would be impossible but an entry now and then will be fine. Cal said I was always scribbling in it last year, which isn’t true, but I filled the journal and it helped put my thoughts in order, so I’m not stopping.

 

The second resolution was a repeat from last year – lose weight. My favourite jeans are still tight and despite losing a few pounds after our cycle trip last summer, the excesses of Christmas (and my total lack of willpower) have bounced the scales upwards again.

 

I paused to sip more coffee. Cloud had disappeared into the garden, annoyed by the lack of attention.

 

“What else?”

 

I thought back to the night before. Cal told me he wants to study and try for a promotion. I told him I’m going to expand the Sewing Mama. Yes, that could be a resolution.

 

Learn how to say No, I wrote. Sophie would scold me if I didn’t write that one down. I thought she was mad though. I mean it’s easy to say no to somebody selling you life insurance, or so I’m told, but the ability to say no to the Dragon was a different matter.

 

I sat back and thought about last year. I stood up to several people. Kenny’s mum, Marion, turned into a friend as a result. The Dragon backed down, for a while, after I was honest with her. Of course there had been some strong medication involved in that encounter, but it proved I could do it.

 

The one I wished I’d had a real head-to-head with was Chloe’s mother, a blonde user who constantly calls me Tina instead of Trish. Her little daughter has been giving Hannah grief all year but I’d recently banded together with some other parents to put a stop to it. Yes, that needed to go on the list – protect Hannah. My “mama bear” was on high alert and she better watch out.

 

I drew a wavy line around the list, happy with my plans and sat back. Could I manage some dry toast for lunch? I had to settle my stomach so I could cook the promised banana pancakes for the sleepover gang's brunch, preferably without gagging.

 

 

 

 

At two o’clock the door to the kitchen opened and my son walked in, stopped when he saw me, and turned a nasty shade of pale grey.

 

“Jamie, are you sick?”

 

At the word sick he rushed from the room to the downstairs bathroom. The sound effects told their own story. He wasn’t well, but was it self-inflicted?