All of you out there who made a New Year’s resolution and are steadfastly trying to achieve it, raise your hand. As I suspect, the numbers have dwindled. I get it. Why set yourself up for failure when it’s easier to just opt out.
I toyed with the idea of making a New Year’s resolution. After the holidays I certainly need to shed a few pounds. Ok, a solid fifteen. I needed to lose weight before the holidays but, you guessed it, I only succeeded in packing on more pounds. As soon as the clock chimed 2016, I should have put down the champagne and picked up a kale smoothie but that wouldn’t have gone well with the pigs in blanket or the brie stuffed pastry piled on my plate.
January 1st came and went and by the middle of the month everyone had stopped with the Happy New Year greeting. The idea of embracing a resolution seemed so 2015.
Or so I thought.
My mother is one of my blog subscribers so there is a 50/50 chance that she will read this post. Listen, the whole point of my blog is to vent on whatever I feel like venting about. Everything and anyone is fair game. Plus, most of the venting is about my short comings anyway. See how I’m practicing explaining this to my mother when she calls to chew me out?
Back to the topic of New Year’s resolutions and my mother. Last week, we decided to meet for dinner before she and my Father headed to Florida. I decided to forgo my uniform of a clamshell hair clip and black sweat pants and put a little effort into my appearance. I showered, don’t worry, I shower on a daily basis. Next I put on makeup. That’s still not where the effort came in, although it is one of my least favorite tasks. The real work started when I styled my hair. I went all out. I strategically worked a volumizer product through my thinning hair. Next, I blow dried my hair section by section. Finally, I used a curling iron, twirling piece by painful piece, to give it some much need oomph.
When my mother walked through the door she stared at me, mouth agape. I thought maybe I went too Farah Fawcett with the curls when she finally exclaimed her approval. I am the Italian girl. My mother, first generation German, is understated and never overdramatic. She exudes a classic elegance without looking like she tried at all.
After a large glass of liquid courage, she dispensed some motherly advice.
“You really look fantastic!”
“You know,” pause, BIG sip of wine…
I began to worry that we’d finish the bottle before we placed our food order.
“I love your hair.” Pause, sip.
“You look so much younger!”
“I know my wash and wear days are over.” I nodded agreeably.
“Long over!” Mommy Dearest chimed in just as agreeably. “This is what you have to do….” Pause, gigantic sip, really more of a gulp.
“ALL the time.”
Suddenly losing that fifteen pounds didn’t seem so hard. Whereas, following this hair styling routine seemed downright daunting. Desperate to change the subject, I asked if she looked at the special list. She pushed the menu aside dismissively.
My mother was on a mission and would not let go. The finger came out for emphasis.
“This is it!” Pointing at my new do.
“Promise me you’ll style it like this, every day!”
Ha-ha I though smugly, she’s going to Florida, I’m staying in New York. “Ok Mom, I promise!” I said with a cheesy fake smile and crossed my fingers behind my back. It was my turn for a big sip of wine but I almost spit it out when she continued.
“When I’m in Florida we can FaceTime.” She replied with a gotcha smile.
Maybe this is a good idea. Maybe this will be my New Year’s resolution. Maybe I can do it. After all Mothers know best.
Or maybe I can get a perm……