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A Mom’s Actually Doable New Year’s Resolutions (No 5AM Wake-Ups Included)
Look, I know what you’re thinking. Another New Year’s resolutions post? In this economy? But hear me out. Unlike those “I’m going to meal prep every Sunday and wake up at 5AM to journal” resolutions that make you feel like a failure by January 3rd, these are actually doable. I know because I’m committing to them too, and if I can do it while explaining to my toddler why we can’t eat playdough for breakfast, you can too.
Build a CD Ladder (And Leave It the Hell Alone)
Remember when our parents told us about savings accounts that actually earned interest? Yeah, those existed. Welcome to the CD ladder, which sounds like construction equipment but is actually your ticket to earning something more than the $0.12 your savings account generated last year.
Here’s the deal: instead of locking all your money in one certificate of deposit, you spread it across multiple CDs with different maturity dates. Think of it like planting a money garden where something’s always ready to harvest, but you’re not tempted to dig everything up when Target has a sale.
The hard part isn’t building the ladder—most banks make this stupidly easy now. The hard part is not dismantling it the second your kid needs new cleats or you convince yourself you need that Le Creuset dutch oven. (You don’t. Your current pot works fine. I’m talking to myself here too.)
The actual plan: Start with three to five CDs in $500 to $1,000 increments if you can swing it. Stagger the maturity dates—maybe 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, 12 months. When each one matures, roll it into a new 12-month CD. Before you know it, you’ll have a steady rotation of CDs maturing throughout the year, and you’re earning way more than that pathetic savings account rate.
Pro tip: Set up a separate savings account at a completely different bank for your “oh shit” money. That way, your CD ladder can stay intact while you still have emergency access to funds. You’re not touching the ladder unless someone literally needs surgery or the roof caves in. New shoes don’t count. Yes, even if they’re really cute.
Start a Backyard Compost (AKA Controlled Rotting)
I resisted composting for years because it sounded like one more thing to manage, and honestly, I was afraid of creating a raccoon nightclub in my backyard. But composting is genuinely one of those rare things that’s both good for the planet and good for your wallet.
Those little compost bags you buy at the garden center? Highway robbery. Your kitchen scraps can do the same thing for free, and you get to feel smug about reducing waste. Win-win.
Getting started: You don’t need a fancy $200 tumbler bin (though if you want one, no judgment). A simple wire bin or even a designated corner of your yard works fine. Throw in your fruit and veggie scraps, coffee grounds, eggshells, yard waste, and shredded paper. No meat, no dairy, no dog poop—let’s not create a biohazard.
The ratio people talk about is “greens and browns,” which sounds like a weird salad but basically means nitrogen-rich stuff (food scraps, grass clippings) and carbon-rich stuff (dried leaves, cardboard, newspaper). Aim for roughly equal parts, turn it occasionally, and nature does the rest.
Real talk: It will smell a little funky if you lift the lid, sort of like earth-flavored B.O. That’s normal. If it smells like death, you’ve added something you shouldn’t have or it’s too wet. Add more brown stuff and turn it. If raccoons become a problem, get a bin with a locking lid.
The payoff comes in spring when you’ve got gorgeous, rich compost for your garden, and you’ve kept literal pounds of waste out of the landfill. Plus, your grocery budget benefits because you’ll actually use those vegetable scraps instead of watching $4 worth of cilantro turn to slime in your crisper drawer.
Read One Book a Month (Parenthood Hasn’t Destroyed Your Brain Completely)
Remember when you used to read for fun? When you could finish an entire chapter without someone asking where their other shoe is or why the cat is making that sound?
One book a month is twelve books a year, which is eleven more than I read last year if we’re not counting “The Very Hungry Caterpillar” for the 947th time. This isn’t about becoming a literary critic or only reading Important Books. This is about remembering that you’re still a person with interests beyond managing everyone else’s chaos.
Making it work: Audiobooks count. Ebooks count. Romance novels count. That thriller everyone’s reading counts. If you’re staring at those inspirational “read more classics” lists feeling inadequate, stop. Read what you actually want to read, not what you think you should read.
I’ve started keeping a book in my car for school pickup lines, and I listen to audiobooks while cooking dinner or doing laundry. Those weird fifteen-minute pockets of time add up faster than you’d think. Some months you might blow through three books, other months you’ll barely finish one. That’s fine. This isn’t a competition.
Library apps are your friend: Libby and Hoopla let you borrow digital books and audiobooks for free using your library card. No late fees, no driving anywhere, no explaining to the librarian why “Goodnight Moon” is three months overdue and looks like it survived a natural disaster.
Join a book club if that motivates you, or don’t if adding another obligation makes you want to hide in the pantry eating crackers. The goal is enjoyment, not stress. Reading is supposed to be the opposite of checking your bank account or dealing with health insurance.
Be More Patient with My Kids (Insert Hollow Laughter Here)
I’m putting this one out there knowing full well that I’ll still lose my cool when someone spills an entire cup of milk after I’ve asked them seventeen times to use both hands. But aspiring to be more patient feels important, even when it’s hard as hell.
Here’s what I’ve learned: patience isn’t about never getting frustrated. It’s about how quickly you recover and what you do with that frustration. It’s about recognizing that when your kid is melting down about their sandwich being cut the wrong way, they’re not actually trying to ruin your life—they’re just terrible at emotional regulation because their prefrontal cortex won’t be fully formed until they’re 25.
What I’m actually trying: Taking three deep breaths before responding to whatever fresh nonsense is happening. Saying “I need a minute” and actually taking it instead of pushing through until I explode. Remembering that my kids won’t remember whether the house was clean, but they’ll definitely remember if I was constantly irritated with them.
Also, I’m trying to notice the funny parts more. When my kid puts their pants on backwards and insists that’s how they go, that’s kind of hilarious in hindsight. Maybe I can find it funny in the moment instead of three hours later when I’m telling my husband about it.
The budget connection: Stress about money makes everyone less patient. When you’re worried about bills or feeling stretched thin financially, you’ve got less bandwidth for the seventy-third request for a snack. The financial stuff we’re working on this year—the CD ladder, the side hustle consistency—these aren’t just about money. They’re about buying ourselves some breathing room and peace of mind, which makes us better parents.
Some days I’ll nail this. Some days I’ll still yell about shoes left in the middle of the floor. Progress, not perfection.
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Be More Consistent with My Side Hustle
Ah yes, the side hustle. That thing you started with big dreams and motivation, which now exists primarily as a guilt-trip in the back of your mind while you’re rewatching “The Office” for the fourth time.
The inconsistency problem is real. You have a great week, make some progress, feel amazing. Then school has a early dismissal, someone gets sick, the car needs new tires, and suddenly it’s been three weeks since you touched your Etsy shop or wrote that blog post or whatever your particular hustle happens to be.
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Here’s the shift I’m making: Instead of aiming for huge blocks of time that never materialize, I’m committing to small, consistent action. Fifteen minutes a day beats four hours once a month, both for actual progress and for not losing momentum completely.
I’m also getting real about what consistency actually means with kids. It doesn’t mean working on it every single day without fail. It means having a realistic schedule—maybe three days a week—and actually protecting that time like it’s a doctor’s appointment. Because it kind of is. It’s an appointment with the person who still exists inside “mom identity,” the one who has skills and interests and earning potential.
The money angle: Look, we all need more than one income stream right now. Whether your side hustle brings in $50 a month or $500, that money matters. It’s the difference between stress-sweating when an unexpected bill arrives and handling it without panic. It’s contributing more to retirement. It’s the vacation fund or the college savings or just knowing you’ve got options.
But also—and this matters—it’s about maintaining a sense of competence and identity outside of keeping tiny humans alive. The income is great. The reminder that you’re still good at something besides negotiating with terrorists (sorry, I mean toddlers) is priceless.
Action items: Set specific work times and tell your family this is happening. Use a timer for focused 15-minute sprints if that’s all you’ve got. Track your progress somewhere visible so you can actually see you’re moving forward even when it feels slow. Celebrate the small wins because nobody else is going to throw you a parade for updating your inventory or pitching three clients.
Exercise and Me Time: Actually Fixing My Back Pain Instead of Just Complaining About It
Can we talk about how we’ll sacrifice our own basic needs faster than you can say “touched out”? My youngest is two now. TWO. And I’m still dealing with back pain from pregnancy and childbirth because I keep prioritizing literally everything else above my own physical wellbeing.
I’m done. Well, I’m deciding to be done. We’ll see how it actually goes.
Here’s what I’m not doing: I’m not committing to some Instagram-worthy fitness routine that requires special equipment and looks like it was choreographed by someone who’s never been interrupted mid-workout by a child asking if dinosaurs had belly buttons.
What I am doing: Moving my body regularly in ways that actually address my back pain. That means actual physical therapy exercises, stretching, maybe some yoga when I can manage it. It means accepting that three 10-minute movement sessions scattered through the day are completely valid and probably more realistic than one 30-minute chunk anyway.
And here’s the revolutionary part: I’m doing this even when other stuff can wait. Because here’s the secret they don’t tell you—there will ALWAYS be something else. There will always be another email, another load of laundry, another snack request, another mess to clean. The work never ends. If you wait for a perfect time when everything else is done, you will literally never take care of yourself.
The real cost of not doing this: You know what’s more expensive than taking 30 minutes for exercise? Ibuprofen dependency, doctor visits, potentially serious back problems down the road, and the general misery of existing in a body that hurts all the time. You know what’s worse for your kids than occasionally having to wait or entertain themselves? A parent who’s in chronic pain and increasingly resentful about it.
I’m treating this like the non-negotiable it should have been all along. Exercise time goes on the calendar. Back stretches happen daily, even if I have an audience of small critics. The ibuprofen is for occasional use, not a daily maintenance drug.
Making it stick: I’m starting stupidly small. Like, embarrassingly small. Ten minutes of stretching in the morning. A short walk when I can fit it in. Actually doing the exercises the physical therapist recommended instead of nodding enthusiastically at the appointment and then never doing them.
I’m also getting real about childcare. If I have help at home, I’m asking for coverage. If I’m solo, the kids can watch a show or play independently for 20 minutes without developmental consequences. Screen time guilt is not more important than my spinal health.
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The Through-Line Nobody Talks About
Here’s what I’m realizing ties all these resolutions together: they’re all about playing the long game when everything in our culture pushes us toward short-term thinking and instant gratification.
Building a CD ladder means resisting the urge to spend now for benefit later. Composting means dealing with a little inconvenience for eventual payoff. Reading consistently means choosing delayed satisfaction over scrolling. Patience with kids means investing in relationship over quick compliance. Side hustle consistency means small actions compounding over time. And taking care of our bodies means preventing bigger problems down the road.
This is the stuff that actually moves the needle on our lives, but it’s also the stuff that’s easiest to skip because the consequences aren’t immediate. Nobody goes broke from skipping the CD ladder one more month. Nobody gets seriously hurt from putting off back exercises one more day. But month after month, year after year? That’s when you look up and wonder why nothing changed.
The Plan for Actually Doing This
I’m not relying on motivation because motivation is a liar who shows up for three days in January and then ghosts you. Here’s what I’m doing instead:
Starting small: Pick one or two resolutions to focus on first. Get those rolling before adding more. I’m starting with the CD ladder (one-time setup, mostly) and the back exercises (daily non-negotiable).
Habit stacking: Attaching new habits to existing ones. Composting gets added to my dish-washing routine. Reading happens during my morning coffee. Back stretches happen right after I brush my teeth.
Tracking without obsessing: I’ve got a simple chart on my fridge with boxes to check. Visual progress feels good, but I’m not treating it like a test I can fail. Miss a day? Tomorrow is a new checkbox.
Grace, but not excuses: There’s a difference between “today was genuinely overwhelming and I couldn’t fit this in” and “I chose to scroll Instagram for 30 minutes instead.” Both are human, but only one deserves actual grace.
Accountability with flexibility: I’m telling people about these goals, but I’m not being rigid about exactly how they look. Reading ten books this year instead of twelve still counts as success. A broken CD ladder is still better than no CD ladder.
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Let’s Be Real About This
Some of these resolutions I’ll crush. Some I’ll struggle with. Some will evolve into something different than I planned. And that’s fine. The goal isn’t perfection—it’s direction. It’s making intentional choices more often than default ones. It’s recognizing that future you deserves the same consideration as present you.
This year, I’m not resolving to transform into some idealized version of myself who has everything together. I’m just trying to be a slightly better steward of my money, my time, my relationships, and my body. To stop putting everything off until some magical moment when life calms down, because anyone with kids knows that moment doesn’t exist.
If you’re working on similar goals, I’d love to hear about it. What’s the one thing you’re actually committing to this year? What’s the thing you keep saying you’ll do “someday” that maybe needs to become today?
Here’s to a year of small, consistent actions that actually compound into something meaningful. And to not eating the compost, which I really shouldn’t have to specify, but I have toddlers, so you never know.
This post is for informational purposes only and does not constitute professional financial, legal, or tax advice.
