Whilst compiling a list of things I should like to do to make 2018 a better year, and myself a better me, it did occur to me that perhaps there are some aspects of my life that are just right as they are, and with which I certainly oughtn’t to interfere.
So, without further introduction, here are 18 things I resolve not to change this year:
- Cooking with my son. It makes him so happy; it makes so much mess.
- Painting with my son, when he’ll let me. I resolve, in particular, to continue handprint painting, which he tolerates and I adore:
- Guilt-tripping my reluctant husband into cutting my hair due to my irrational fear of going to the hairdresser (of course I can’t possibly visit the coiffeuse when we are saving for an extension…).
- Watching the duck splash in the paddling pool pinched from my son for the purpose, whilst doing the washing up. I must remember to obtain a replacement before sandpit season returns.
- Taking my son to the maternelle four mornings a week. We have no idea what goes on, except that there is a slide and a big red car, but he loves it, and I love not having housework to do when he wants to play with me. I do miss him dreadfully though.
- Speaking to my mum twice a week on the ‘phone, to hear the news and to gossip.
- Listening to BBC Radio 2 playing in the background, all day, every day (except for Sunday afternoons).
- Watching period dramas, tucked up in bed, with my husband.
- Collecting fresh eggs from our three chickens, when they can be bothered to lay.
- Driving down to our local gare every once in a while with my little boy, to watch the trains and to surprise my husband after work. At the moment, however, it would be more of a surprise to him if we didn’t come, as we are one car down and are collecting him each evening to spare him a good forty minute up-hill power walk back home (‘Surprise, darling! We thought you could do with the exercise!’ would probably result in my hair finishing at my knees).
- Bulk buying, and consequently bulk eating, as much of the produce in the ‘et si j’essaie…’ crate in Carrefour whenever something is introduced that I love and have missed, living in France. I am convinced that my efforts have helped to turn parsnips and kale into permanent residents, so I am quietly confident for the future. I’m hoping for okra next…
- Scoffing raclette whenever the opportunity presents itself.
- Playing Shovel Knight on the Playstation with my husband. It is in 2D so I never get lost.
- Playing the piano when nobody is listening.
- Admiring the view of the Rhône from the walks surrounding our home.
- Cuddling my little boy in his Big Boy Bed after story time.
- Relying on my son to tattle on the cats when they are misbehaving, by calling and wagging his finger. He has yet to realise that this always leads to them being temporarily locked out (I’m not convinced that this resolution will survive the year).
- My opinion on tea. My fellow Brits may feel impelled to unleash the pitchforks over such heresy (go ahead – I’m safe here in France, hah!) but I will never understand the inclination, let alone the craving, to drink several times a day something that tastes of warm river water. Speaking as a seasoned river-drinker (through both clumsiness and malicious intent – I was most certainly pushed) I believe myself equally qualified to suggest that rivers taste like cold tea, with an extra dunking of rat. It certainly isn’t my cup of tea.
Mots du jour:
ne touchez pas a ça – don’t touch/interfere with that coiffeuse – female hairdresser maternelle – nursery school gare – train station et si j’essaie… – and if I try…