Bah, humbug.

I'm not usually a grump, but I really don't like the New Year holiday. Actually, I like the holiday, I love the idea of new beginnings. But I hate the media's repetitious Year In Review articles - you can't turn a page without seeing that creepy mug shot of Michael Jackson - and the endless, rehashed blathering about New Year's resolutions. Not that I don't make resolutions, I do. But the media turn a very personal decision into a Hallmark holiday, going as far as telling us, ad nauseum exactly which resolutions to make: diet, exercise, give up smoking, be less stressed. Then they bombard us with ads for fast food, soft drinks, television programs, cigarettes and cell phones.

My personal year in review shows 2003 to have been a quiet one, to be expected with a newish baby. My son was Baptized early in the year, and we were blessed to have relatives from across the state, and my dear cousin from across the country, celebrate with us. My daughter started preschool; my son completed his first year. We took a week's vacation to San Francisco. Mostly, the year was marked by events not on the calendar, the mortar of our daily lives: playdates and shopping trips, laundry and meals, sleep and school and work and play.

Of the two resolutions made last year, I kept one, returning to my pre-pregnancy weight. Alas, the first Great American Novel written entirely during naptimes did not get written. I got a few paragraphs into this or that and got nothing completed, in fact I got so little accomplished it is more honest to say I got nothing started. This year, I am lowering the bar - not to take the easy way out, necessarily, but to set a more realistic goal - and resolve to submit at least one freelance article to a major magazine. I have begun sending for writers' guidelines. There, I've said it, it is in print, being Googled at any moment into indelible history.