That’s right. I loved this year. Aside from the fact that a lot of people I love had shitty years, from a purely selfish standpoint it was a damn good one for me. Shall I dot off the ways?

• The move! My word. It was 11 months ago when we put the crapshack on the market. There’s a lot of apprehension in any move, and second thoughts on whether you’re doing the right thing. This move was one of the smartest things Brian and I have ever done. I knew we weren’t happy in our previous living situation, but I had no idea until we got where we needed to be. The quality of our lives has skyrocketed. This house, this town, all of it. I never could have imagined a year ago just how wonderful and life-changing it would be.
• Damn, I made me some wonderful friends this year. Can I even begin to make a list of the people I didn’t know a year ago who I can’t imagine not having in my life? Beqi, OtherRobin, Mia, Rachel, Julie, Kate, all of their spouses, partners, and kids, and so many others.  Surely you’ve all been with me all along, right?
• I got to see a lot of people this year I haven’t seen in ages. Dixie, Pam, Kara, Kristina.
• How lucky am I that this is merely the tip of the iceburg of people I love who care about me?
• You know what happens in 2008? Brian and I will have been together for a decade. We’re officially stuck with each other, and I’m cool with that.
• Skills acquired this year: sock knitting, using a MacBook somewhat competently, drink Stag from a can, living with candy-color hair and its fallout, organizing charity auctions, and teaching another human being to urinate into a container intended for urine.
• Which reminds me, holy cow! That auction was without question the coolest day of the year. I’m still amazed at what we did.
• I saw the two best Wilco shows I’ve ever seen, both from near the stage. I finally got my husband hooked on the band, and I got to hang out at soundcheck with him and Kristina.
• That kid of mine … I can’t even begin to describe what she’s added to my life this year. This week she’s been writing songs on the acoustic guitar she got for Christmas. Writing songs, People! She strums and sings about things she’s seen and done, what she wants in the future, and it amazes me. She teetering on the verge of reading. At times she channels an old Jewish man by expressing disdain with a hearty, “Eiy eiy eiy”. For mistakes, we get a heartfelt, 1970s sitcom-style, “Waaaa waaaaa waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.” We have no idea where she learned these things.She has friends she loves, interests that are all her own, an imagination that never sleeps, and quite an appetite for hummus. She rocks.
• I’m leaving the year with just about everyone I started it with. The few losses along the way were quite educational and I’m determined to utilize what I learned from them.

Here’s to a delightful 2008.

I’m stuffy, snotty, achy, somewhat hacky, and have acquired the always beautiful habit of mouth-breathing. Could be worse; I’m not close to pulling an OtherRobin and coughing until my muscles rip, for which I’m very thankful. Brian, Clara Jane and  I hit downtown Prettytown and Target yesterday. I was okay for the most part, but completely wiped out by the time I got home. Today, aside from going upstairs to nap, my ass has been firmly planted on the couch in the rumpus room. I’ve cleared about 29 hours worth of crap off the DVR, made some progress on a sock I’m knitting, made the opposite of progress on a bag I’m knitting, drank 58 quarts of water, whined, and peed a lot, what with the quarts of water.

Don’t worry – I did get up to pee. Peeing away the germs that are making me sick! I’m sure that if I keep envisioning all this water flushing the disease out of my body via my kidneys and bladder, I’ll be well enough tomorrow to go to the Monday Mom Posse’s New Year’s gathering and ingest something other than Dimetapp from a glass rimmed with crushed Tylenol Three with Codeine tablets.

Since moving six months ago, I’ve barely ventured back to St. Louis County. Aside from one evening of knitting, a birthday party, and a few speeding trips down the interstate en route to the hometown, I’ve stayed away. What could bring me back? Friends and necessity, obviously. And cheap yarn.

Today I ditched Brian and Clara Jane to deal with Christmas cleanup. I hauled my snuffling, snorting, bloody-nosed, dowager-humped, sleep-starved self out of the house. For yarn! Which I don’t need! But Knitorious and Chris’ were both having sales, and since I was going all the way out to Chris’, it would be a shame to not stop at Loopy Ewe. Sweet Jesus. I now have no money but I’m going to have enough socks and felted bags to last me the rest of my life, if I get cracking. It’s a good thing I have decent health insurance because I can’t afford the nose, the hump, and the yarn.

As for St. Louis County, it was … weird. I kept thinking of places I should go, but honestly, I just wanted to get my stuff and get back to Prettytown. Not that there’s anything wrong with St. Louis County; I’ve just completed my transformation to small-town hick that rapidly. In no time at all I was sick of driving, traffic, people, lines, and bad online map directions. I simply wanted to take my 2398 new yarns, get my hick-girl ass across the Mississippi, and hang at the coffeehouse down the street from my house. By the time I got home, all I could do was take a nap.

Look! Chloe discovered the fireplace!

Shuffle.

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• We’re home. There’s a fire in the fireplace. Chloe the Basset hound has discovered the bliss of lying on a pile of pillows in front of it. Sing with me: Hound dog roasting on an open fire/Dog stink shredding up my nose.
• I’ve either picked up a virus or my upper respiratory system is unpleased with the days I spent without radiator-based heat. The fire’s helping a lot.
• Sitting in my favorite chair, which is between the fireplace and radiator? Not smart.
• I might wear shorts tomorrow, when I go on a yarn-shopping safari. Knitorious is having their annual sale. Since Brian will be home to mind the child, I’m going to take full advantage of the situation to hit their sale, another yarn sale, and maybe finally pay a visit to The Loopy Ewe. Because if there’s anything I need, it’s more yarn. If you, too, will be yarn safari-ing, look for the girl with purple hair, a bloody nose and hypothermia. That’s me.
• My secret Santa from the Wilco fan board I’m on sent me amazing handmade beads, including one that looks like a large naked female torso. You know how much I love that.
• My in-laws got Clara Jane a harmonica for Christmas. It’s not helping me like them any better. I’m pretty sure that’s what’s causing the nosebleeds.

No, I’m not sick. And no, this isn’t my usual holiday tradition. And I’m most certainly not pregnant, diabetic, or suffering from the vapors. I think what’s transpired is, simply, I am now 35 years old and have earned the right to spend whatever portion of my holiday I see fit snoring in a recliner.

That said, I do wish this was the only photo and the only incident that involved me day-sleeping in a recliner in the past 24 hours. I even used different recliners for different naps. Just so you napping novices know, sleeping on your stomach in a reclined recliner for a few hours is not good for your back, or any part of your body, for that matter.

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I don’t have to tell you how our Christmas was. Simply, delightful. Good family time, too much food, dominoes, reaching the age where it’s acceptable for me to pass out snoring on the couch before all the guests leave - you know how it goes. Blah blah blah … typical overpriviledged and blessed American-style Christmas day.

What I do need to tell you is a story of a young girl’s generosity, a rite of passage, and one gigantic lie … or magical Christmas legend, depending on your perspective.

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I swear, this is my last trip to my hometown for awhile. For the second time in a less than three weeks, I’ve gotten news of a passing while en route to the hometown. Last time, it was my old friend Monica. Today, as we were crossing the Mississippi River into Missouri, my mom told me that my all-time favorite teacher died unexpectedly of pneumonia at the wee age of 64.

It’s almost like my eighth grade year is disappearing. I had Ms. Fox twice. In sixth grade she was my English and social studies teacher. By the time I began eighth grade, she was teaching this life skills-type class that was required for everyone, so I had her again. She was also close friends with my best friend’s mom, so I saw her a great deal outside of school. Twenty-one years ago this week, her family, my friends family, and I spent Christmas break skiing in Colorado.

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Huge amiss, I know, with missing two consecutive days of blogging during Holidailies, and nearly missing today. They’ve been busy, busy days.

The Cuz arrived on Friday, but this wasn’t just a typical holiday visit. Oh no. This visit was the cumulation of The Cuz having lost her ever-loving, mother-fucking mind. After the debacle of our pre-Thanksgiving gathering, she offered to babysit all the kids from the Monday Mom Posse so the grown-ups could go out and have some grown-up fun.

Really? You honestly want to travel for several hours to watch five children under the age of four?

Really?

Are you smoking stuff you found in the spice rack again?

And thus began The Most Fun Holiday Gathering in History.

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• I just bounced a cheeseball off the couch. And yes, I’m eating it. Shut up.
• We had Round Three of school anxiety today. OtherRobin called this morning with a dead car battery. Clara Jane and I skipped over to give her a jump start. The power didn’t last, and a few hours later Clara Jane and I gave her a ride to pick up her son G. from daycare, which, of course, is the daycare Clara Jane will be attending. She sobbed so hysterically all the way home that she drug G. into the mire with you. Nothing makes our town suddenly seem really, really big like a truckful of screaming kids.
• One Christmas knitting project down, one more to go. I should be working on it now but frankly, I’m sick of it.
• The Cuz and her dog of questionable sexual orientation will be here tomorrow! I’m going to help her knit a shrug for him in exchange for her making the most insane offer ever made: she’s going to watch the kids while the Monday Mom Posse celebrates Christmas. Oh yeah. And that’s all I’m going to say because we know that this is the most jinxable group.
• Courtney sent me a fabbo magnet today with the words “yarn slut” spelled in Scrabble tiles. I love that a person I met online, who I’ve yet to meet face-to-face, knows me well enough to know I will whore myself out for yarn, and that she can kick my ass at Scrabble on a daily basis.
• So this is apparently turning into a knitting-related post. Today I learned that the cool guy who works in the music department at my nearby book/music/coffee/storytime megastore also raises alpacas. So, if anyone wants alpaca fleece or a baby boy alpaca, I can now hook you up.
• Remember how I started this post by dropping a cheeseball on my couch? I just dumped my crackers on the floor.

Not me. Oh good lord, not me. Having spent seven years of my life in college and not having a damn degree to show for it? I’m not wasting any more of my time on that book-learnin’  bullshit. Or so I say now. My last college spurt was nearly six years ago. That’s the longest I’ve ever not been in school, and every now and then I think I should go back. Then I remember how much I love to read when I’m not shoveling over cash to have someone else tell me what I’m going to read, and I get over it.

No, I will not be returning to school anytime soon. We’re talking about Clara Jane. As you long-term readers might remember, I used to send her to a daycare/preschool one day a week. She started when she was 18 months and went until last May, nearly two years. Around that time we were in the middle of the move, and she started this “Don’t leave me! Don’t ever leave me!” strain of toddler angst that I had hoped would subside by now.

It hasn’t.  Let me say that I love my daughter more than anything and  I love being lucky enough to have the option of staying home with her. However, we’re making each other crazy.

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