Propane, septic, and speeding tickets.

"Alright," I thought, "Game ON, 2010, GAME ON." Gritting my teeth, I planned to write down my weight every morning, get up 20 precious minutes early so that I could Tread on the Mill and Boost My Metabolism, and keep a *faithful* journal about what I ate. I scheduled days to blog. I figured out ways to save money. I was SET I had a PLAN and I had resolved on how to resolve to be a better me.

Then the mail came.

Let me say first that this month has been a tough one. Christmas, for one, the first without my dad. And, even though Christmas is wonderful, it is expensive, but hey, ok. Two weeks before Christmas my husband had to buy a new truck (new to us, but still), since his simply wasn't going to pass the Nazi Regime Inspection. I have passed the edict that none in the household shall say the payment aloud. Saying aloud makes it real. But I still smiled and gritted my teeth and determined to keep track of what I had resolved to do.

Two days before Christmas, well into the evening, my husband looks at me and says "oh SHIT I forgot to call for propane. Hon, can you do that tomorrow?" Two. Days. Four hundred dollars for *some* propane, not coming close to filling the tank. "Look," the children whispered to each other, "she smiles but can't talk while she does. It's creepin' me out, man."

The day after Christmas, all the drains in our house simply go on strike - nothing will drain. Um, what? It turns out the septic tank is full. *blink* That can happen? Why yes, it can. And to have it drained, which is just as disgusting and malodorous as the picture your imagination is painting right now, costs 250 dollars. I now twitch when I smile.

Now, the mail.

In the mail is a speeding ticket. The state of Arizona insists that my husband was speeding "approximately" 14 miles per hour over the limit. I must include here that I told my husband that Arizona brooked no nonsense when it came to speeding, from the mobile speed traps, the 8 million patrol cars, and the (this is the important part) fixed cameras on intersection lights. "It must not be me!" he exclaimed. Then he looked on page two, on which there is are pictures of the car coming and going. There is also a picture of the license plate, and a remarkably clear picture of my husband driving. I am so proud that only ONE of the "I told you to slow down"s jostling at the back of my clenched teeth manages to bolt free, and that the "I told you so" did not have a single "you stupid son-of-a-bitch" attached. Especially when he read the part about having 30 days to pay $254.00.

Ah, sweet Jesus.

My new resolve? Besides trying to make it through January without having to eat the dog or sell one of the children for gas money? I really am resolving to be a healthier me, a better me, but now I have added: when I speak, I will be heard. After all, it seems to be expensive to not listen.

For more resolution, head over to Sprite's Keeper.