This year, her top resolutions included:
- Become a famous singer
- Learn actual magic (not card tricks—real magic)
- Get a horse
- Stay up until midnight without falling asleep on the couch
- Make a YouTube channel
- Train the dog to sit, spin, and possibly tap dance
Meanwhile, I’m sitting next to her with my own list that looks…different. Very different. My resolutions are significantly less magical.
My list reads more like:
- Drink a cup of coffee while it is still hot
- Find one matching sock per week
- Sit down sometimes
- Stop eating my feelings in the form of holiday chocolate well into March
- Pretend I’m finally going to start journaling (I am not)
The contrast is humbling.
Her New Year is fueled by glitter, possibility, and unshakable faith in herself. Mine is fueled by survival and caffeine.
But here’s the thing: I love her list. I love that her goals are huge and wild and delightfully impractical. I love that she believes she can become a singer-magician-horse-owner-YouTube-star by summer break. Because isn’t that the whole point of childhood to imagine the biggest version of yourself?
Watching her dream like that makes me rethink my own list. My resolutions could use a little sparkle. I could dream beyond “drink more water” and “try not to lose my sanity before bedtime.” Maybe moms deserve a little unreasonable magic too.
So this year, I’m adding one new resolution, straight from my daughter’s influence:
Believe in impossible things again.
I don’t think I’ll be becoming a pop star or adopting a horse anytime soon, but I can make room for fun. I’m looking forward to writing some goals that aren’t measured in checkboxes but in joy.
I’m thankful for my lofty dreamer who reminds me what it feels like to believe in the extraordinary, right when the ordinary starts to feel too heavy. That might be the best resolution of all.
This column is by Pamela Chandler, a local mom who writes about motherhood and family. Reach out to her at thechandlercrew3@gmail.com.
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