Fry, Party of Five

January, as it turns out, is not a fresh start. It is not a clean slate. It is not a gentle reset. It is not an opportunity for growth, reflection, or becoming a better version of yourself.

According to my almost teenagers, January is an offense.

An inconvenience. A personal attack. A month that should be optional, outlawed, or at least discussed in a family meeting before being added to the calendar.

If you’re picturing cozy mornings, calm routines, and fresh motivation, please know this: January has entered my house like a substitute teacher who assigns homework on the first day.

January Is “Too Much School,” Immediately

Let’s start with their strongest and most passionate belief.

January has way too much school. Not regular school. Not normal school. Aggressively scheduled school. Five full days a week, right out of the gate, like no one just spent weeks eating cookies for breakfast and forgetting how backpacks work.

“Didn’t we just do this?”
“Why are there tests already?”
“I feel like winter break was fake.”

Apparently, December was a warm hug, and January is a pop quiz that makes eye contact.

The backpacks are heavier. The mornings are darker. The vibes are gone. January expects them to walk back into academic life emotionally prepared, spiritually grounded, and ready to try—and frankly, that feels like too much to ask.

January has zero chill.

January Is Cold, but Make It Personal

January cold is not cute cold.

It is not cozy-cocoa, Hallmark-movie, “let’s romanticize winter” cold.

It is mean cold.

This is the kind of cold that hurts your face, ruins your hair, and makes every coat feel like a personal betrayal. The air itself feels aggressive. Nothing about it is charming. It’s just cold for the sake of being difficult.

They don’t want snow days. They want hope days—days where school might be canceled, probably won’t be, but you still get to spiral about it all morning.

January refuses to participate in that fantasy and honestly seems proud of it.

January Has an Attitude Problem

January is not festive.

December sparkles. October crackles. Even February, with its forced romance and aggressive pink aisle displays, at least tries.

January offers nothing but responsibility.

No decorations. No candy worth sneaking. No music except whatever’s playing on the radio while everyone silently agrees it’s too early for this.

January is the month that says, “Alright, let’s get back to it,” without asking if anyone is emotionally prepared—or emotionally alive.

My almost teenagers would like January to bring something. A parade. A mascot. A snack theme. Literally anything to justify its existence.

January Is When Parents Get Weird

January is also the month when parents suddenly change. We start saying things like:

“Let’s get back into a routine.”
“We should reset.”
“This is a good time to build habits.”

According to my almost teenagers, this is deeply suspicious behavior.

January is when I start caring about bedtimes again. When I ask about homework. When I say things like, “Let’s make good choices,” as if I’ve forgotten who I live with.

January turns parents into motivational speakers with coffee mugs and unrealistic expectations.

They preferred December Mom—the one who said, “Sure, one more cookie,” and “We’ll worry about that later.”

January Mom has a brand new planner and has opinions about it. They do not trust her.

January Is Emotionally Confusing and Nobody Likes That

Here’s the part they don’t have words for—but live out dramatically.

January feels long.

The days drag. The light disappears by dinner. The excitement is gone, but spring is still a rumor. There’s nothing to look forward to except Valentine’s candy, and that’s weeks away.

They are tired for no reason. Moody for no reason. Hungry immediately after eating. January messes with their emotions, and they would like it to stop.

They don’t have language for seasonal comedowns or post-holiday whiplash. They just know January feels unfair and mildly personal.

January According to Their Wardrobes

January is when each of my almost teenagers commits to wearing the same hoodie every single day. The emotional support hoodie. It is oversized. It smells questionable. It is absolutely not appropriate for the weather.

But January is not about logic. January is about survival.

Jeans are suspicious. Socks are optional. Pajama pants under real pants are not open for discussion. January fashion says: Do not look at me. Do not speak to me. I am doing my best.

January Is “A Short Month” (Allegedly)

Parents love to say, “At least January is a short month.” This is propaganda.

January is not short. January is not medium. January is approximately six years long.

My almost teenagers would like the record to show that January contains at least 97 school days and lasts until morale improves.

They do not believe February is real. They think adults invented it to keep society functioning.

And Yet—Here’s the Soft Part

Here’s the thing they’d never admit.

January is when they sit closer on the couch. When they linger in the kitchen. When they ask for snacks, rides, and company.

January strips away the noise and leaves us with quiet evenings, shared sighs, and the awkward in-between season of growing up.

They are almost teenagers—half brave, half unsure. January mirrors that. It demands resilience when they’d rather hide. It expects maturity while they’re still figuring out who they are.

So they complain. Loudly. Creatively. Constantly. And honestly? Fair.

January is hard—for them, for us, for anyone who just finished holding it together through the holidays and now has to keep going.

January, According to Me

January isn’t about fixing them—or myself. It’s about softer landings. Lower expectations. Extra grace when moods swing. Letting the hoodie live one more day.

It’s about remembering that starting again doesn’t have to be loud, productive, or impressive. Sometimes January is just about showing up with snacks, warmth, and a sense of humor.

According to my almost teenagers, that’s the only acceptable plan.

And, against my better judgment, I think they’re right.