I don’t know about you, but I am a bit relieved that the holidays are over. We Rowleys have been racing since the middle of November and I’m ready to slow down a bit. I’m also ready to reacquaint myself with discipline. When it comes to writing, and to other things.

Like eating.

Yup. So cliched. To emerge from the jolly season with the desire to become more healthy. But here I am. Announcing said desire.

Yesterday, I did it. I stepped on the scale. This is something I haven’t done in some time. And I saw what I expected to see. That I’d gained a bit. Not a ton. Not a dramatic amount. But a few pesky pounds.

Okay, five-ish.

I stepped off that scale with this predictable but disconcerting shred of information and I went on with my day. But first. I did something. I wrote down the date and my weight. I also vowed to do something else: To weigh myself daily. And to write down everything I eat, and the calories in those things, until those five-ish pounds are gone.

I am at Cosi as I write this. I just ate breakfast. An egg white veggie wrap. 264 calories.

I will keep this up. This exercise in ownership, in discipline.

And next week? Husband and I are embarking upon a joint cleanse. He did this cleanse last year and loved it. For a few weeks, we will make shakes and healthy meals together, to get our collective nutritional mojo back. I’m excited. Is that weird?

A month from now? I imagine I will be feeling quite good, full of better energy and better habits. That we will. I look forward to that.

Until then? I will step on that scale upon waking. And I will be aware of what I put in my body. And I will write it all down. Including minutes of daily exercise.

A bit boring? Indeed. But probably quite effective, too. Goodness, I hope so

Did you gain any weight over the holidays? Are you happy we are in January? Are you good about imposing dietary discipline on yourself? Have you ever tried a nutritional cleanse? Do you think this post smacks of perfectionism?

We can’t reach old age by another man’s road.

Mark Twain

Do you ever feel like you are walking another person’s road? Do you ever think you are just putting one foot in front of the other because the path is pretty and well-paved? Do you ever wonder how you got there, on that road, that road flanked by foliage and fear, big trees and other people’s dreams?

What does your road look like? And how will you find it? Or will it find you?

Big Girl,

On New Year’s Day, you turned five. And it was a wonderful day. A day I have no doubt I will remember. And maybe you. This amazes me and delights me, that you have entered the terrain of memory, that these are days and moments that might just stick with you. I hope you remember bits and pieces of last Sunday because it was a good one.

In the morning, Daddy and I gave you a present. A silly little Hello Kitty tutu-costume-thing. And when you saw it, your face lit up and you stripped down and tried it on. It fits so perfectly, you declared. You announced that you would wear it all day.

But first, you tried on your other gift. We also gave you and your sister matching Hello Kitty nightgowns. Indeed there was a theme to this day. You both tried them on and then you stood side by side and held hands. You should know that you are a very good big sister. Generous, protective, loving, challenging.

Back in your tutu-dress-number, we took a trip to the stable to visit old Honey. You and your sister stood in the sunlight, feeding the old lady wedges of apple, watching her chew.

After lunch, I got a huge treat. With the promise of staying up late to celebrate, you curled up for a nap beside me. We snuggled as you drifted off. And I watched you sleep, your sweet face framed by a mess of dark blond curls.

In the afternoon, we went swimming. Little Girl and I hung back watching you girls skip along that little paved path where I once skipped as a girl.

You were off to find your suit. Determined, independent, a little and big person. My little and big person.

I watched you splash about. Smile. Relish. Live.

In the evening, before dinner, I captured you in a hug on that famous bright yellow couch. I kissed the back of your head and thought, Five years. My goodness, five years.

You ate your nuggets and spicy rice. And then there was cake. Hello Kitty again.

Let’s just say: you somewhat enjoyed it.

Let’s also just say: it was a really good day. A simple day. A day of family, of fun, of frolic. For me, your mom, it was a day of taking stock. Of the years that have piled up, swiftly and surely and sublimely. Of that tricky thing we call Time. Of that magical mix of memory and longing and love.

Of You. The creature you have become, and are becoming. Of your bright blue eyes, and your keen sense of kindness. Of your intelligence, already unique and robust. Of your sensitivity and strength, your willingness to hug me and hold my hand and climb into bed next to me even though you are getting big. Of your long limbs and quirky qualms and big questions. Of that exquisite head of hair of yours, locks tumbling down and twisting whimsically. I will have to cut it one of these days, my girl. Probably before you turn six.

But not yet. Not yet.

I love you, my first girl, my Big Girl. You know this. I see it in your eyes when I look at you, when I pick you up and twirl you wildly, when I kiss your soft cheeks over and over and over at night. But if I have learned anything, anything at all in the last five years, it is that you can never say them enough, or show them enough, those three little words, those three big words.

I love you.

To pieces, my girl. To pieces.

This will be short. And maybe a bit scattered. Because I am not home. I am in South Carolina with family. And I have been up since 4:45am. It seems Little Girl is dealing with an ear infection, or is majorly teething, or is going through a growth spurt, or something. So I am beginning this brand new year in typical fashion: utterly wiped.

But I am also feeling very positive about 2012. Yesterday, the first day of the year, was really quite magical. It was Big Girl’s fifth birthday. The weather was glorious and my girls were happy and, well, it was indeed a wonderful way to kick off the year. I took oodles of pictures with my new camera (my Christmas gift from Husband) and look forward to sharing many of them here. And, as promised, I will pony up a birthday letter for my eldest gal. I have so much to say to her, and to myself frankly, five years into this parenting thing.

So today. Today I just wanted to pop by and say hello. I wanted to tell you that I have been thinking a lot about what I want from this year. I have also been thinking about what I want this blog to look like, and feel like, going forward. And I thought I would share some of these thoughts with you.

This year, I want to be productive and purposeful in my productivity. I want to write books. Yes, plural. I know I can do this and I am going to stop making excuses about time and exhaustion and the plethora of babies that have come to rule my existence. I am going to write and edit and polish and submit and write some more because this is something I love and I will not put this part of me on hold because my current life is chaotic and complicated.

This year, I want to be more flexible and forgiving. I want to embrace the juggling act that is my existence with a sense of reasonableness… As long as I am writing words and spending quality time with my girls and my man and my friends… As long as I am reading good books and good blogs… As long as I am feeling life and laughter and love… As long as I am learning… I will know that I am indeed doing okay. Better than okay.

This year, I want this blog to reflect the three things that matter most to me, topically speaking. Life. Love. Learning.

Life. Philosophically speaking. Biologically speaking. This is what rivets me. How we choose to live. How we find health and happiness in our own lives. How we react to the ripple of our days.

Love. Parental love. Marital love. Love for friends, for work, for words. Love for stories, for places, for memories, for questions… Isn’t love something we are all after?

Learning. Learning in school. Learning beyond school. Are we truly growing if we are not continuing to learn? And who are our teachers? Our colleagues, our kids, our struggles, our juggles. An academic and existential romantic, I hope this is a year of profound learning, personally and professionally.

Okay, signing off to soak up my last day at a fine family place. I smell bacon. And the girls are all awake now, PJ-clad, hair exquisitely mussed, beckoning. And my coffee? It’s gone. Again. And I am off for a refill. And another good morning.

Do you have any thoughts on 2012? Nothing is too random, too big or too small. (One of my sisters told me she wants to start taking vitamins this year and also that she wants to “figure out her life.”) How do you hope your blog (or life) evolves this year? Do you think it is possible to be both highly productive and genuinely self-forgiving at the same time?

If you slow, if you stop, if you squint, you will see them: Life’s white lights. They are wrapped around growth, around green. They dangle and dip. They glitter and shine and blur together. They remind us of seasons, of sweetness, of soul.

His birthday. The man I love is thirty-six today. And the girls and I will descend upon him at his office and take him for lunch. The girls will nibble fries and probably sing holiday songs, and Mommy and Daddy might even indulge in a rebellious midday celebratory cocktail. If there is a quiet moment or two, I might hold his hand over the table and mouth them, those simple words, also true: Happy birthday, babe. I love you. The girls will attack Daddy with hugs and we will say good bye, parting ways for the afternoon hours. He will go back to work, see out the day. We will go home. And then, in the evening, we will take our little girls to a big party. A party at my childhood home. We will twirl with our little creatures around another big tree, around friends old and new and forever, around family. We will celebrate it all – the birthday, the holiday, the everyday.

Our anniversary. On Sunday, it will be seven years. Seven years of marriage. Seven wonderful and wild years. Years in which we’ve thrived and survived and welcomed a treasured (and tricky) trio of Rowley girls. We will do what we try to do each year on this night. We will hold hands and walk the short distance to the Museum, where this all began. We will climb the big beautiful steps out front and sit under the lit-up dinosaurs. This year, we will have our kids with us. We will tell them a little story. Of us. And then we will hold their little hands (and tote the tiniest) and walk them back down those stairs. And back home. Once they are tucked in, I imagine we will have a quiet toast. To really good years. The ones behind us. And all those that stretch ahead.

My break. It’s that time of year again. To stop, to see, to savor. To pause. It’s time again to spend time in pajamas, tickling tiny toes. It’s time to curl into the cozy moment that is right now, not then, not when. It is time to breathe a series of thank yous, to spend quality time looking at them. My little creatures. My man. My gifts. All of life’s white lights. Because they are there. On that big sweet-smelling tree. And they are here. Tangled in the crooked branches of a life I happen to love.

Happy birthday and anniversary, my love. Happy holidays, all. See you in 2012!