With these resolutions, life could be better

So that’s how it feels to take it into the end zone. That’s how it looks to knock it out of the park? If this is how winning feels, I could sure get used to it.

I’m talking about the New Year’s resolutions I worked up the nerve to draft last week. After reviewing last year’s dismal results, it was all I could do to cobble together a feeble list.

Let’s see. The first resolution involved some serious turkey consumption with a raft of leftovers. That’s a juicy check.

Secondly, I resolved to stay up way too late (does 2 a.m. count?), to watch way too many movies, to take naps, and to forget what street clothes feel like.

Sure enough. It was Pajama Town over here, population six. Check, check, check, and check.

Lastly, I resolved to play games, to laugh out loud (a lot), and to count my blessings instead of dialing up the orphanage when the boys get to wrestling again. Here it does break down a bit. We haven’t gotten to the games just yet, but we sure did laugh out loud, and I did indeed count my blessings.

Okay. So there was one hang-up at the orphanage. You can’t prove it was me. I’m pretty sure I was hovering over the turkey platter when that occurred. So check, check, and – well, small tick.

The result of all of this success has been utter relaxation and a sense of renewed confidence and optimism. Believe it or not, I actually feel up to taking a whack at the weighty task of making resolutions for the tight-knit community in which I live (see abovementioned town).

My first resolution concerns the little papoose and his bladder. This busy three-footer in his size 3T blue jeans has captivated our family, including his big brothers, who have taught him many things, such as how to do fist bumps. In short, he’s a delight. It’s just that when it comes to potty training, it’s been, quite literally, a dry run.

We’ve tried all the old standbys. We’ve recreated Niagara Falls in the tub. Nothing. I’ve thrown Cheerios down so he can play the aiming game. Still nothing.

I’ve promised candy to no avail, and his father even brought home new Lightning McQueen underwear to motivate his small son to be a big boy. Ab-so-lutely nothing.

After numerous attempts the other day with nary a drop or a tinkle, I remarked to his father that evening that he’d been such a non-producer that “if he worked for you, you’d have to fire him.” He only grimaced and shook his head.

I don’t think it was my imagination that he left for work extra early the next morning, leaving me with Mr. No Go and his Pull-Ups.

So, I resolve that the littlest Mr. Schrock should get himself directly on the fast track to diaperless living. I’m tired of lining the pockets of the diaper company CEOs. I’m pretty sure that, thanks to the Schrock babies, we have personally financed a villa used by the Pampers execs in the south of you-know-where.

Heads up, guys. You’re gonna have to find a new source of revenue shortly, if I have anything to say about it.

My second resolution is for the driver of a certain Big Red Truck whose fear of getting dings and scratches on our vehicles is so great that he parks two counties over and makes us walk in. “Oh, that’s right,” I groan as we circle the outer reaches of the parking lot. “I forgot that we have to park in Kosciusko County.” And then, “Are you sure we’re at the right store? ‘Cause I can’t see the sign from here…”

During one recent parking attempt, I noted to the family that we appeared to be approaching Outer Mongolia. From the back came a voice, “Dad, we just passed a guy on a camel.”

I resolve, then, that from here on out, we at least park in the same township. I’d just like to be able to read the sign when I start walking.

The last resolution is real simple. I resolve that all pranksters in the continental United States hold an annual convention in, say, Cleveland. That way, they can practice all their practical jokes on each other instead of wreaking havoc on their unsuspecting families.

Send them to Cleveland, I say. Put Saran wrap on each other’s shampoo bottles, not ours. “Sneeze” on the back of your fellow conference attendees’ necks with a spray bottle instead of your poor little brother. I realize it’s terribly fun for you to hear him scream because he thinks you just did a gooey kablooie on his neck, but it wasn’t so much fun for him. Take it to Cleveland and get it out of your system.

If these resolutions can be followed, it would sure make a difference around here. I’ll save some money, it won’t take a three-day trek to get to the grocery store, and there’d be some peace and quiet. Oh, yeah. And one of you will have some cool new underwear.