A New Year's letter to my daughters

Dear Jocelyn and Aja,

Twenty-ten was a wonderful year and we’ve grown as a family, but there’s something that’s bothering me. It’s now January 4^th and neither of you have made any resolutions. This means only one thing: you will accomplish NOTHING this year. Don’t you have goals and aspirations? I know there have only been three candles blown out between the two of you but I don’t think that it’s fair to discriminate against you based on age. New Year’s, in its truest form, is about rediscovering what you love, and, more importantly, it gives you a chance to find out what sucks. About you. Then you can figure out what steps need to be taken in order to change. Write it down and tell your friends because someone will need to remind you how hard and how quickly you have failed.

Aja, you defied the odds last year, growing out of your premature frame into a bouncing baby with the determination of a pit bull. You laugh, you walk, you eat every meal as though it were your last. But you hate your crib with a passion, which is painful for me because I want you out of my bed. I miss my husband. You love him too—you love him MOST of all—and perhaps this is your game. As your opponent, I can say that try as you might, YOU WILL LOSE. So go ahead and resolve to stake your claim on the middle of the big bed. But you better have a backup resolution if you want this year to be a success.

Jocelyn, I suggest that you watch what you say because language can get you in trouble. Just today you proved that there’s a fine line between baby talk and adult conversation. Your vocabulary has expanded, and while I am proud that you used it correctly, I must, as a mother, publicly scold you for this:

“That was fucking crazy Mommy.”

“What did you say?”

“It was fucking crazy Mommy. Fucking crazy.”

I have no idea where you learned such crass language but it needs to stop immediately. Your New Year’s resolution: find a synonym for fuck. And be sure to use it correctly.

As for me, I will try and be a better mother than I was last year. And by try, I mean that I will do what it takes to get through the day. Some days that may mean that we’ll all cuddle together and read a book or bake a fake cake in your new kitchenette, and other days we’ll retreat to separate corners and wait for Sesame Street to end before we utter a word to one another. I’m about to start working full-time for the first time since before you both were born. This means that we’re all going to have to get used to a new routine. And a year from now, we can look at the ways we prospered and failed, and together we can say:

"That was a really fucking great year."

Love,

Mommy