Posted in parenting

the sex education of a 4-year-old

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“Mummy, how do you make a baby?”

It’s a question we all expect – but I was expecting it later. Certainly not at age 4.

However, I need to explain something about Missy. She is baby-obsessed, and has been for three-quarters of her life. All her dollies get breast-fed. (And, I have to say, her positioning is spot-on.) The double buggy she requested for her birthday has fully adjustable seats and handle – you would be amazed at the amount she ‘needs’ to adjust them. Last year she frequently asked to view Google images of mummies “with six babies in their tummies”. (The multiple-birth obsession led to me and her praying for twins and…well, be careful what you pray for, folks.)

So I guess I knew the question would come. And that I couldn’t fob her off.

The thing is, we’ve all met a small child who has an obsession with trains or dinosaurs, and they know All The Stuff. Small details that we will never, ever know about the workings of an engine, or the dimensions of a stegosaurus – these are the things that this particular small person will rattle off to us while our eyes widen in amazement.

What is the difference if a child has an obsession with babies? There are two, I think. One is that grown-ups do know the detail – and the second is that some details are largely considered to be less appropriate to hear at a young age. My daughter does not have the emotional maturity to understand, or cope with, the complexities of sex and the plethora of tricky issues surrounding it.

And yet the basic mechanics of sex she can understand. Why shouldn’t I tell her? This is, after all, her specialist subject.

I take a deep breath. “Well…the mummy has an egg and the daddy has a seed, and the egg and seed create a baby…isn’t that amazing?” I reply, hoping the sense of awe and wonder will distract her from further questioning. There is indeed awe and wonder. For two seconds. Then:

“How does the seed get to the egg?”

Oh. Er…

Bear in mind we’re having this exchange in the car, me trying to watch the lights and navigate the route, whilst feeling the weight of her questions. What if her view of sex is permanently scarred by my answers?

I opt for the humorous approach. “Through the daddy’s willy!” Well that word always dissolves my kids into fits of giggles, so fortunately that’s the end of it – for today.

(An aside: I know that the professionals would frown at me for using slang terms for genitalia, but sex is so ‘other’ to your average 4-year-old, that I feel that to use the proper words at this stage would simply alienate it further. My kids know the correct terms, we just choose to use the words they’re comfortable with.)

Did I give the right responses? On the one hand, I don’t want to get sucked into an area which I don’t feel she’s ready to discuss yet. But on the other, there’s no point telling her fairy tales about a stork, only for her to have the facts ‘changed’ in a few years’ time. I want to foster a close and communicative relationship with all my children, and I realise that there’s no time to start this apart from straight away. Above all, I want her to trust me, which is why I couldn’t lie to her.

A few weeks later, I get the sequel. “How do daddy’s seeds get to the egg?”

What do I do? A short, succinct sentence: “The willy goes inside the mummy’s vagina.” (OK, I’ll admit, we don’t use slang for that one.) Do you know what? She and her brother just laughed and laughed at the preposterous notion I’d set before them (and, presumably, that I’d said ‘willy’ again), and that was it. That was the end of the questioning. Sometimes we freak out with the difficult questions, but actually our kids aren’t wanting a whole lot of answer – one sentence can be enough. OK, it was a pretty heavy sentence in this instance, but I don’t regret saying it. I told the truth, but managed to avoid telling her what happens up to that point, how the seeds come out of the willy, or how they get to the egg.

Just because our culture creates a taboo out of sex doesn’t mean that it’s right to go red at the mention of it. Sure, it may be inappropriate to discuss the intimate details of our sex lives with others, but the objective facts are not something about which to be ashamed or embarrassed. Moreover, if I’m a Christian, then I need to hold sex in high regard because the Bible does. It is, after all, God’s design. Avoiding the subject with my daughter doesn’t communicate this message. It is as if I’m ashamed of something God created to be good – and that isn’t healthy or wise.

What would you have done? Or what have you done? Any advice?

Posted in busyness, daddy, family, parenting

#toomanychildren

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Me, at about 10am.
It’s not that I don’t love them all. I do – madly. But there are a lot of them. Maybe they seem more numerous because all of them are so very small – of course lots of people cope admirably with 5+ kids, so why should I be complaining at having merely four to raise? The fact that, laid end-to-end, they would barely reach the length of our living room perhaps gives the feeling that they are more than their sum.

Maybe it also has something to do with both me and the hubster being raised in smaller families. Whilst I have two siblings, the age gap is so great that I was effectively raised as an only child – and hubby has just the one sibling. Nowadays, when he’s asked how it’s all going with our newly-expanded family, this man who, in another life, would have been perfectly happy as a childless batchelor replies dryly, “Yep, it’s going great. I think we’ve both got used to having too many children”.

We were at a party the other week and, at any one time, I only knew where maximum 3 of my kids were. I’m not lying. Because when our sociable, food-loving kids are in an environment where there are lots of people and scones, how is it even possible to keep track?If God had meant families to have more children than parents, then He could at least have designed us with more eyes and arms.

The other day, someone asked me how it was going, and I was explaining that it was generally OK, but pretty non-stop from 7am-11pm. “Oh yeah,” he said, “because I guess in the evenings you have the next day to prepare for.” Honestly? I would love to live in the sort of world where I could afford an evening’s preparation for the next day. I can see it perfectly: there’s me, peacefully ironing school uniform while the last of the evening sun glimmers in through the window and Radio 4 murmurs in the background. Then I’m putting together nutritiously balanced packed-lunches, and making a mental note that we’re running out of quinoa. Finally I’m Pinteresting messy play ideas for toddlers, finding one my boys will love, and gathering together everything needed from my well-stocked and well-ordered craft cupboard. And then, of course, it’s bed by 10, so that I can be well-refreshed for the day. Yep, right. This is a reality that will, sadly, never be mine. Evenings are spent clearing up the day’s detritus. Scraping hardened Weetabix off the dining floor with my fingernails. Emptying the overflowing nappy bin into the washing machine. Retrieving my stilettos from Missy’s bedroom.

Friends are like, “How do you cope?” and I’m all “But no, you don’t get it, I really don’t.” Our house is an excellent advert for contraception. There is Stuff everywhere, including in the toilet. Laundry bins are rarely emptied. (And, when they are, you can bet your last pound that this momentous achievement will be followed by a bed-wetting event. The other time bed-wetting occurs is the night after you’ve changed the bed linen.) Mealtimes feel like a military procedure – in a regiment where your soldiers need to be asked a question 17 times in order to respond: Do you want ketchup or mayo? Ketchup or mayo? KETCHUP OR MAYO OR BOTH???? I assure you, it’s only by the grace of God that we all end up in our own beds under the same roof each night.

Do you want to know how it’s done? Two simple steps which, being the generous soul that I am, I’m going to share with you. Forget your parenting courses, it’s all here:

  1. Ignorance. Pick any minute of any day, and there are usually three kids being ignored. I call it character-building. By the age of 7, each of them will be able to prepare their own snacks, dress their own wounds and reach their own footballs down from the garage roof. 21st-century kids are far too molly-coddled.
  2. Lower standards. Facebook pictures of my friends’ newborn babies, sleeping sweetly in the cutest outfit, with a beautiful hand-knitted blanket, and just the right filter to make the picture canvas-worthy – this, my friend, is not a world that I inhabit. The older two dress themselves – they have to – which inevitably means Mister ends up in a blue T-shirt and muddy blue tracksuit bottoms, despite having patiently and repeatedly given him the fashion advice that blue and blue do not go together, and asked him kindly every night since he was 5 to please put your dirty clothes in the laundry bin – and Missy ends up wearing trousers, a skirt and a dress, topped off with a tiara, sunglasses and wellies. The younger two get dressed by me or Desert Dad – but, since we are both so dog-tired, our ability to put an outfit together which is a) clean, b) hole-free, and c) well-fitting is, quite frankly, non-existent.

So, despite my general hatred of hashtags, #toomanychildren is one which is here to stay. The noise, the mess, the anecdotes that we will share over dinner parties when we are old and grey, the memories we’re apparently making, the sleep deficit we’re building up – it’s here to stay.

And, it pains this organisational-freak to say it, but I actually love it.

Posted in Uncategorized

dear long-neglected blog

It is, of course, incredibly bad taste to assume a higher position in life, society or social media than that which one actually occupies – but allow me a *small* head-swelling moment. More than a few people have noticed the absence of desertmum blog posts over the last three months. (They’ve actually noticed! Noticed and commented! And even a few titterings suggesting they’re looking forward to the return of desertmum blogs!)

Three months! (And a day, to be precise.) Wow – where did that go? My answer is simple: 6-4-1-1. I’ve taken to using the ages of my children as an excuse for any lapses in my correspondence, diary planning or general organisation. It works brilliantly for all ages/numbers of kids – I dare you to try it. “I’m so sorry I double booked for this weekend…8-5-3” or “Did I forget that meeting? It’s just because, you know…15-13” or “It’s our anniversary???? You expected me to remember?? Yeah right… 3 month old.” And so on.

So that’s my excuse. It’s not that there haven’t been any ideas, or even draft posts. (One on the stubbornness of my daughter, one on the pyromania of my son, and another on how I totally can’t do this parenting thing. Connected? Maybe.) But I don’t like to publish anything I’m not happy with, and somehow when you’re trying to do a gazillion jobs fuelled by chocolate rather than sleep, the words just don’t seem to come out right.

Therefore, please find below a grovelling apology of a blog post, where I attempt to bring you up to speed with what’s been going on over the last three months. Some of these ideas, I’m sure, will become recurrent themes on the blog, so see it as a little taster, if you like, of what’s to come. (Because there will be more posts to come, and I will not leave it three months again.)

I hate to admit it, but I’ve become a little obsessed with Pitch Perfect, its sequel and both soundtracksA large part of my time this year has been spent vocalising, harmonising, learning beat-box, and annoying my kids in the car with random vocal sounds, although at one point Mister was joining me in learning beat-box, and it was most satisfying to pass his bedroom one night and hear him beat-boxing to Bob Dylan as he drifted off to sleep. I’ve been constructing vocal arrangements in my head, scouring YouTube for good songs to arrange, and wondering how possible it would be to do something like this actually, in real life. Oh, and if you haven’t seen the film – you must!

I’ve been exposed to the Zero Waste movement through my student friend Abi (read her blog here), and inspired that it can work even for families through my friend Nicola. I’ve started to get mad over excessive packaging, and was totally flummoxed when my bananas arrived yesterday in bubble wrap. I mean – what???!!!

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If you’re on the same wavelength, please take a moment to sign Abi’s petition for supermarkets to offer non-packaged options for the items they sell. We get charged 5p a bag, but what incentive do they, and their suppliers, have for cutting down plastic waste?

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Our garden has taken up some time. You definitely wouldn’t call me green-fingered, but we had a huge hedge taken down a few months ago, leaving a very sorry mess behind, so someone needed to do something. Luckily we’ve employed our friend to do the heavy root-digging, and I’ve been able to do the fun stuff like extend the lawn, plant herbs and shrubs and (eventually) cultivate some veg. Not to brag or anything, but in the last few months I’ve built a sandpit and junior picnic bench using a power tool.

We had our beautiful boys dedicated, and it was just brilliant. Actually, the day in itself was stressful as one of them was off-colour, restless, grumpy; the weather misbehaved; and I forgot to put out as many flakes as people wanted with their ice cream. But actually doesn’t that just reflect the daily ups and downs of parenting? It was brilliant to be able to dedicate them, to have so many wonderful friends and family there to witness it, and to have the excuse for a good old party. And, as there was just NO WAY I was going to let all that hard work go to waste, I made people sit in the garden regardless of weather. Mwahaha!!

What else? Oh, I’ve started to exercise. This is not a lie. I’ve been going great guns with Davina’s 15 minute work outs, I’ve started tennis lessons, and I’m in the early days of a 30 day abs and squat challenge. I don’t even know what that means, but I’m loving it. The Facebook group I’m part of is full of people using lots of exclamation marks and phrases like “Smashed it!!!!!” with a whole load of emoticons (are they still called that?) of muscly-arms and trophies and bikini bodies. Honestly, it is a world I don’t understand, and a language I’ll never speak. But there’s something about hitting my mid-thirties that makes me realise that if I don’t do it now, I’m probably going to lose any possibility of doing it in the future. Yeah!!!!!!!!! Go me!!!!!!!!!!!!! We can DO THIS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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The kids and I combined our love of Lego and Uno by coming up with a new game: Leguno – see picture. Doesn’t make much sense without the rules, but life is too short and this blog is already too long to explain.

I’ve read some good stuff in the last few months – predominantly things people have linked to from Facebook because, book-wise, I’m still trawling my way through the impressive but LONG Animal, Vegetable, Miracle which was recommended to me by my friend Kirsty during my 2015 Year of Books. (I asked for short, pithy, easy-to-read things – Kirsty clearly didn’t get the memo. I’ve literally been reading this book for a year.)

The articles/blog posts which come to mind as being thought-provoking, interesting, good or all three are:

Why boarding schools produce bad leaders – the reality, I’m guessing, is more nuanced than this, but some interesting thoughts, none the less.

This brilliant blog post about how we need to support the marriages of our missionary friends.

My friend Suzy’s honest and brave declaration of trusting God with her family on the mission field.

This excellent parody of the government’s ridiculous new rules about punctuation and grammar.

And that’s about it, save that I have no idea about the EU Referendum, and really need to be doing some reading up on that.

What have you been up to?

 

 

 

Posted in bible reading, book review, easter, family, jesus, parenting

follow me – a review and a giveaway!

Amy Robinson is a writer and storyteller. It’s a sad irony that the years when Amy and I lived in the same city never overlapped with the years of me being a parent, as I think our family would have loved her storytelling performances.

Follow Me

The next best thing to being able to watch Amy is surely to immerse ourselves in her book Follow Me! which is a creative family devotional for Lent. (I say ‘immerse’, but let’s get this out of the way from the start: our family has recently exploded from four to six, and the only things in which we’re immersing ourselves just right now are toys, shoes, poo and melodrama. Anything else – this wonderful resource included – merely gets a toe-dip.

HOWEVER.

That doesn’t stop me from raving about Follow Me! Family Bible times are such a tough one to navigate, with different ages, interests and timetables to contend with. But here is a resource which accommodates all that. For example, some of the activities were too old for my under 6s – but that simply means I can continue to use the resource for the next few years. And some of the activities needed a bit of preparation or forethought – but then again this offered flexibility, giving us license to extend, or cut short, as suited us. I love how the book is so structured, and yet offers so many open possibilities.

This is how Follow Me! works. It starts Ash Wednesday (that’s tomorrow – eek! This blog was meant to be published a week ago!), and follows a different Bible story each week throughout Lent. Each day there is an activity based on that Bible story – perhaps a creative retelling of the story, some history and context, a poem, questions for ‘wondering’, a craft or a prayer. Every Sunday (which falls on day 5 as the weeks begin on Wednesdays), there’s a ‘community day’ which encourages your kids to do something simple with others. This is designed to be done within a church community, so is perfect if you attend church on a Sunday!

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I just love the spontaneity this book initiates. This is the fishermen’s boat on Lake Galilee. My kids chose their own props to add to Amy’s beautiful words.

You can mix and match the activities as much as you like, perhaps just picking up the resource once a week, or every day if you’re keen, or just whenever you all manage to come together. Please don’t think it’s too late to order a copy! (Or attempt to win one, see below.) This resource is SO flexible you can use it at any time during Lent – and, of course, unlike Creme Eggs, it will keep for next year, and the year after, and the year after!

I find Lent a long time in which to engage my children’s interests in the run-up to Easter. Usually we do Shrove Tuesday, and then forget about anything Easter-related until Palm Sunday. I like the fact that this resource manages to sustain the interest with structured Bible readings leading up to Easter. Not that we’re there yet, but I can imagine my kids sticking with this resource for the next few weeks because it’s something different and active, and there’s plenty of variety.

Follow Me! is simply a family-friendly version of what us adults appreciate through Lent: the opportunity to pause, consider Jesus’ life and ministry, and ponder what it means for own lives. You can get your hands on a copy here but as I haven’t done a giveaway for a while, I’ll be sending a free copy to a commenter chosen at random this Saturday. So: get commenting below for your chance to win!

Posted in Uncategorized

letter to my one-child self

Dear Me,

I really hope this doesn’t turn into one of those patronising “If I only knew then what I know now” type missives. If it does, I’m sorry. But recently I’ve taken to remembering what life was like five years ago, and I wanted to encourage you for all you’re doing.

You’re about to turn 30. You have a 1-year-old boy and have just found out you’re expecting again. I want to tell you that the jump from one to two children will not be that bad. You think it will – but I promise you, it won’t. You undersell yourself – but really, you’ve developed so many new skills since becoming a parent that you’ll cope with the new arrival – as well as your lively toddler – with your eyes closed. I’m not saying it won’t be hard – just that you’ll be fine. You’ll learn how to feed two, get in and out of the car with two and navigate swimming lessons with two. Soon, you’ll be able to assemble the double buggy in seconds, entertain your 2-year-old while you feed your newborn, and somehow find time to load the dishwasher. (Good purchase, by the way. It’s only been a few weeks, but this will turn out to be The Best Decision you ever made. Nice one.) You are no longer the anxious first-time parent who didn’t know how to change a nappy: you are assured and confident – even if you may not feel like it all the time.

One day, you’ll have more kids, and you’ll realise that it was glorious, glorious to have as many parents as you had children. But that’s for another time. Don’t think about that right now.

I want to tell you that, five years on, the parenting parameters have changed. I guess you remember the hell of All The Comparisons at baby groups – you know: which kid sat up first, crawled first, walked first, said the first word. Having crossed over from preschool to school territory, do you know what actually counts? That your son is kind and considerate. That he can make friends. That he’s a nice person to have around. And guess what? All the kids in your little boy’s class can stand, walk and talk. No big deal. They all got there.

Keep reading and singing – don’t forget the singing, just because he’s too big to sit demurely in his baby bouncer while you play the piano to him. Sing whenever and wherever you can, accompanied or not. Most of the time it will be not – but that doesn’t matter. They’ll tell you that all this is good for reading later on. You’ll nod your head but you won’t understand – until the time when he actually starts learning to read and you realise that it’s all about rhythms and rhymes, the fall and rise of speech and song – and that a wide vocabulary doesn’t hurt either. I realise he can only really say ‘duck’, ‘cricket’ and ‘chocolate’ right now, but he’s taking in every word that you speak or sing to him.

There are a lot of nappies and a lot of washing. Sorry about that. One day you’ll have twins and they’ll poo eight times a day and you’ll remember these days as a doddle.

You’re great at keeping busy. So many groups, so many playdates. You know what? Your little boy is learning, even now, the important skills of sharing, taking turns, relating to other kids, being hospitable, paying attention, trying things out, responding to adults. Keep up the socialising – it will pay off. But the small fortune you’re forking out for swimming lessons – that will not pay off. At least it hasn’t done yet. Honestly, utilise the free toddler groups at churches and children’s centres – he’ll get just as much from them.

You know the friends you’ve made in the last year? Some of them will turn out to be some of your best friends. You’ll share highs and lows together and, before you know it, the friendship will be deeply dug, strongly built, firmly cemented. There are one or two more special friends to come as well – you might not recognise that spark when you first meet them, but circumstance will bring you together more and more, until eventually your bond is stronger than iron.

Oh yeah, the adoption thing. It’s going to happen – but don’t worry, God’s going to get you excited about it in His own time. I know right now it feels like the scariest thing in the world – if it feels like anything, because you’ve been pushing it so far back in your mind, it hardly even exists as a concept. But the seed is there, and it’s going to grow.

Finally: I know he’s clingy. I know he won’t leave your side unless Dad’s around. I know he screams and screams and screams when you leave him once a week – at home – for an hour’s Bible study retreat with friends. I know you can’t understand why he doesn’t realise you’re coming back, why he’s uncomfortable with those he sees regularly, why he doesn’t just get on and play like the other kids. Guess what? I still don’t understand these things – and never will. And the boy would just laugh if I told him now. But keep doing what you’re doing. He will gain his independence from never having had you turn away his dependence. When he eventually learns to separate from you, he will do it with such confidence.

Keep going, Mama. Enjoy these days, they go so fast – but the best is (always) yet to come.

Love,

Me xx

Continue reading “letter to my one-child self”

Posted in identity, york

when the waters recede: who will still show up?

Recently my beautiful city flooded. There are two rivers here in York – the Ouse floods every year, sometimes several times, but, because the city is built for this, with nearby housing designed on the first floor upwards, the damage is limited. This time, the floods were so bad that the flood barrier had to be raised in order to let out some of the Ouse’s water into the Foss. This is the river near us and, whilst we are fortunately high enough above the river not to be affected, several friends had to evacuate their homes, with damage which will take several costly months to repair.

We were away at the time, and could only sympathise from afar via social media. As news of the events unfolded on local Facebook groups, it became apparent that a mammoth volunteering force was springing up – locals from all over the city (and non-locals from all over the country) were jumping to the aid of those they didn’t know: donating cleaning supplies, baby essentials, food and furniture; cooking and delivering hot meals to volunteers, the emergency services and the army; coordinating drop-off points, collections and deliveries. It was, by all accounts, an incredible example of the desire deep inside us to be generous, kind, sacrificial.

One guy posted on Facebook something which stuck with me. The gist was that his Christmas hadn’t turned out the way he’d expected – he’d ended up helping out in the donation centres – but that this had been the highlight of his Christmas, being able to help, and seeing so many others prepared to give of their time, energy, money and possessions.

It wasn’t a surprise to me that he felt more fulfilled helping others than indulging in chocolate or wine or whatever he might have been doing on Christmas Day. We’re designed to live in community, which means that we each have a desire to help those around us. Of all the ways we could spend our time, helping others is something which never disappoints, never leaves us dissatisfied. I’m not sure we will ever reach our full potential if we’re not actively engaged in serving those around us – it’s part of who we were designed to be.

One of the glossier round-robins we received at Christmas left me a little uncomfortable. For a few days, I couldn’t put my finger on what it was – and then the penny dropped: there was no mention of any activity designed to serve someone else’s needs. There were paid jobs, and there were indulgent hobbies – and that was it.

I’m not going to pretend that it is pure altruism which motivates people to give voluntarily of their time and energy, although of course that is a big part of it. Actually, people who spend some of their time volunteering have recognised that something in us lights up when we serve others. We’re made to do it, and when we do it we discover a little more of the people we were designed to be.

Friends, York is in need 24-7, 365 days of the year – and your locality is too. There are people who are addicted to all sorts of things, living right near where you live. Families are breaking down. People are living on the streets, or in carpet-less council flats, with barely enough money to feed their families. Pushing back evil with good is necessary all year round.

However, the good news for stressed-out parents, busy career types, elderly folk with declining energy levels, is that we don’t have to do this in our own strength. We don’t even ‘have’ to do anything. The battle is won, God is victorious – we simply show up and take part on the winning side. The question is: where are you showing up? Are you showing up at a toddler group each week, which could do with a hand welcoming new people or clearing up afterwards? Are you showing up at a school gate, where some of the parents are going through hell and need your listening ear? Are you showing up at a lunch for older folk who really need to know something of God’s hope? Are you showing up at work, where colleagues need to know their work is valued and respected?

Or are you just showing up and going home?

I know I said 2016 was not about resolutions (actually I’ve been a hypocrite and made one – more on that later) BUT perhaps it should be the year for Showing Up – proper eyes-open, ears-alert, hands-ready Showing Up. Who knows where God will take us?

Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. (Romans 12:1)

Posted in celebration

when the new year fails before it’s even begun

There is nothing like the seeing-in of a new year to convince us of our failures.

Take New Year’s Eve. Whilst I love the idea of it, I find myself caught in that awkward time of life when celebrating it in any way, shape or form seems near impossible. Lodged between my carefree twenties, when I was free to go anywhere and do anything, and my forties, which I sincerely hope are going to be like a second adolescence, as my kids grow into the right age and temperament for partying with us, these days I find myself generally doing very little to see in the New Year. Scrolling through Facebook, it would appear that my parent friends are the same. If we’ve managed a glass of something alcoholic and made it to 11 without passing out due to sheer exhaustion, then that passes as a decent celebration. I chuckled when I read that one of my friends had celebrated with a bottle of Prosecco and University Challenge, and admired their determination to celebrate whilst their 1-year-old slept upstairs. And yet something about my own lack of energy to put anything into New Year’s Eve makes me wonder: if I can’t even get this one night right, what’s the hope for the rest of the year?

Then there is the constant stream of end-of-year reviews, in every format. There’s nothing like a quiz about the previous year’s events to remind me at how rubbish I am at keeping up with the news. I don’t even know which celebrities have got married/divorced/enhanced, let alone the Important Events. Honestly, I watch Charlie Brooker chiefly to catch up with the main news stories of the year. Again, FAIL is written right over me.

And let’s not forget the constant pressure to be a Winning Mum – read: scour Pinterest for creative ideas to make the New Year meaningful and poignant for your 2 year old. Time capsules. Firework crafts. Chinese lanterns. Wishing trees. Over-optimistic lists of what you all want to achieve this year. I’ve done none of this. I kind of want to, but not enough to actually make it happen. FAIL.

Of course this leads us nicely to the elephant in the room: New Year’s resolutions. Surely nothing reminds us of our own failure more than vowing to do something you know is over-ambitious. And all around us, people seem to be actually achieving their goals: losing weight, running marathons, travelling the world. What about me? FAIL.

As I ponder this, I wonder whether I’ve got it all wrong. Whether actually the passing of old seasons, and the arrival of new ones, is not about making oneself better, stronger, fitter, richer. Whether the change of year is actually no more significant than a new month, a new week, a new day – each one abounding in the same fresh hope and new opportunities.

The writer of Ecclesiastes had something to say about this:

“There is a time for everything,
    and a season for every activity under the heavens” (Ecc. 3:1)

After listing a variety of activities, he concludes:

“I know that there is nothing better for people than to be happy and to do good while they live. That each of them may eat and drink, and find satisfaction in all their toil—this is the gift of God. I know that everything God does will endure forever; nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it.” (Ecc. 3:12-14)

Perhaps the New Year is not so much about striving for more, but acknowledging what we have. Perhaps it is not so much about improving our lives, but noticing the good which is already there. Perhaps every day – not every 365 days – is a chance to grab opportunities, see the good, serve someone else, live with hope in our blood. Maybe what we need most is what we already have – and the One we already have is ready to do the impossible this year: acts which will endure forever, beyond whatever fitness regime or career ambitions or self-improvement plans we could set ourselves.

This is not a time for failures. We have already failed – and, try as we might, we will fail again. Instead, may we entrust our 2016 to God, with all the successes and failures it will bring. His works – not ours – will be of lasting substance. On 31 December 2016, I want to be content and encouraged by having sat back and let God take centre stage during the year. I want stories of His goodness and grace, miracles and wonders, the addicted released and the hungry fed. And then I’ll know, whether I party till the early hours or crash out at 9pm, that God’s love endures forever.