By Rachel Gilliam

My Christmas tree is still on full display in my living room, and there are still candy canes in my front yard.

Basically, what I’m telling you is I’m on track to be my best self in 2018. I should have made that my New Year’s resolution, except I definitely do not make resolutions because I’m not dumb.

It doesn’t have to be January for me to not do something. Just ask the pile of clothes in the laundry room floor that are silently judging me.

I think the laundry is colluding with my children, because every time I start folding, someone starts screaming like they have cut off an arm. Usually, when I check on them, I can’t find any ailments, but they nevertheless need at least three Band-Aids.

Laundry folding time also seems to be the time when everyone realizes they are on the verge of dehydration, and only the purple cup will satisfactorily hold water. How in the world could I possibly expect someone to drink out of an orange cup?

A few days after Christmas, I sent the 3-year-old and the 4-year-old up to their room to pick out toys they don’t want anymore because we are going to be overtaken by the toys, if the laundry pile doesn’t get us first.

I gave them both a trash bag and told them not to come down until they had three things in their bags. Let me tell you, they really delivered. I didn’t really have high expectations, but they filled up those bags. I think they made resolutions to be more organized in 2018. 

Then Anna dumped out 8 million tiny plastic letters that go with a felt board she got for Christmas, and they have somehow scattered all over our house. That means I usually find one by stepping on it and trying not to say bad words. Plastic letters are on par with Legos in their ability to deliver searing pain to a bare foot. Maybe I need to cover my feet in Band-Aids, since that is the popular thing to do right now. 

The next time we chat, I vow that I will be slightly more organized. You can look forward to exciting reports of full sock drawers and an empty dryer. I can’t wait. So who’s going to come to my house and make that happen?

Rachel Gilliam is a former Sun staff writer, wife and mother of three girls.