Resolutions.

I never make resolutions at the new year. I see no point in doing so — no one keeps them, myself included. We make all these lofty and demanding goals for ourselves at the beginning of the year, start out with every intention of achieving them, and then the collective momentum inevitably dies around January 15. By the end of the year we're all five pounds heavier, disgusted with ourselves for failing, and once again claiming "the diet begins January 1!"

So stupid.

I'm not big on the resolutions, but I'll admit there's something inspiring about a new year. January brings us a fresh start, a clean slate, an opportunity for reinvention. This appeals greatly to my inner perfectionist, which is probably why every year around this time I get the itch to reorganize my house, buy an entirely new wardrobe, and start using a planner. I want order and peace in my house, my closet, my life. I want to live in Pottery Barn, or at the very least a Real Simple magazine spread. I want a white couch and sparkling floors and big bowls of fresh lemons on my kitchen counter.

I want order and peace and perfection, but what I have is...chaos. Messiness. Lack of control. Snot on almost every item of clothing I own.

I have a kid, a dog, a husband, and a full-time job. Order and peace are not on the menu these days. Dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, fingerprints on every possible surface, a never ending pile of laundry, stacks of bills to be paid...this is what I have to work with right now. And by "right now" I mean "for the next 18 years, at least."

Reconciling my wants and my haves is not easy. I tend to set ridiculous expectations of myself — to be the perfect wife, mother, friend, employee, housekeeper, hostess — and I fail. Over and over again. And of course I do, because you can't have sparkling floors and a white couch when you have a family. You can't work full-time and make a gourmet meal from scratch every night. You can't carve out significant time for your friends when you barely have time to see your husband and child.

I don't need more failure in my life, which is why I typically avoid making resolutions. But what's the difference between making big unattainable goals at the beginning of the year and failing and setting small unattainable goals for yourself every single day and failing?

Yeah, not much. And that's how I arrived at this very important (and yes, quite obvious) conclusion:

Perfection does not exist.

I say that for my benefit, not yours. Although maybe you need to hear it, too?

PERFECTION DOES NOT EXIST.

This is my new mantra. This is my New Year's resolution. To let go of perfect. To stop expecting so much of myself. To just be. To enjoy my family. To embrace the chaos. To stop apologizing for the dust bunnies on my kitchen floor. To not feel bad if dinner consists of hot dogs and frozen green beans again. To laugh. To wear unflattering old sweatpants to the store on Saturdays. To say no when I can't — or don't want to — do something. To accept that romance at this stage of life might just be frozen pizza in front of the tv with the man I love. To do what's best for my family, even if others disagree. To let guests help with the dishes. To leave work at work. To bake a lot, and eat it. To drink a little too much wine once in a while. To let go of the guilt. To smile at the fingerprints coating my walls. To have joy. To praise God in the good and bad, knowing there's a reason for the madness. To let tomorrow worry about itself.

I'm not perfect, and I never will be. But I am perfectly loved by the one who created me. By a husband who adores me, just as I am. By a little boy who thinks I hung the moon. By friends who couldn't care less about dust bunnies. By a family who has always stood by me.

This year, I resolve to be happy. With who I am, where I am, and what I have. Because that's what I think New Year's resolutions — or any resolutions, for that matter — should be about: finding ways to be the happiest, most perfectly YOU version of yourself. There is room for self-improvement, sure, but there is also room for self-acceptance.

And the you-est version of me really likes to eat, so rest assured, there will be no resolving to diet anytime soon. But maybe a little exercise to balance things out a bit...