I received an email yesterday that contained lyrics from a Salt-n-Pepa song. No one pointed them out to me and for all I know it was unintentional, but I knew they were Salt-n-Pepa lyrics because I used to look like this.

That’s me, circa 1986, the year Salt-n-Pepa released their first album. I was 15 years old, which was prime hip-hopping age. Of course, I went to a practically all-white high-school, but technically you’re still allowed to be white and hip-hop as long as you bite your lower lip.

Unfortunately, back in 1986 you couldn’t dance because of the risk that your bangs would go flat. This meant spraying a half-a-bottle of Aqua Net directly on your curling iron, teasing your hair with great force, then applying more Aqua Net. Afterward, it was imperative that you not stand near an open flame.

These ladies know what I’m talking about.

The overabundance in the 80’s took a lot of work. You had to shred, bleach and peg your jeans, you had to destroy your hair, stack bracelets up your arm, and you had to make room in your closet for a bag of shoulder-pads. Sigh. The best shape my body was ever in was completely wasted on 80’s fashion.

Thank goodness the neon, lace and crazy clothing shapes are gone for good! What? They’re back? That’s okay. My teen daughter will look good in big, baggy tunics.

I, however, won’t be wearing those clothes again. And as for my poor, poor hair; I will never again tease my bangs unless it’s for Halloween. The styles of the 80’s are gone for good.

But, as shallow and corrupt as the music was, I can’t seem to shake it. Or, Push It. Same difference.

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Last year, my husband told me that I should post a year-end recap. Because my brain is currently swimming in a sea of egg nog and peanut butter blossoms, this seems to be a good time to do it again.

In January, I traveled to Nashville and wrote my last Oprah Cliffs Notes. *sniff*

On Valentine’s Day, I posted the story that I would later read in front of thousands of people at the BlogHer Voices of the Year keynote. *gulp*

March, and looming swimsuit season, meant that I wrote about my battles with my weight. Again.

I rewarded my son upon my return from Seattle in April. Then he insulted me. Also, what else is new?

In May, he insulted a cashier.

And, in June he kind of called me a man.

In July, I asked Question of the Day XI and I took my daughter on a trip to Chicago to visit my friend, Melisa.

I traveled to San Diego in August and I almost didn’t come home.

In September, we visited the Lake Erie shore and I realized that I gained the confidence that I never had in my twenties.

I gave out running advice in October…you know, like “Never trust a fart” and I traveled to New York to mingle with professional writers and editors who probably don’t ever write about such things.

In November, I visited the Hocking Hills in southern Ohio and I lost my mind and tried to post every single day. I almost did it because it’s easy to write when you have a constant companion.

And, a couple of weeks ago, I gave you a peek into my lovely home.

Thank you to all of the readers who swung by here this past year. Also, thank you to the sponsors who gave away experiences, books, gift baskets, clothing, a coffee maker, a Kindle Fire and over $600 in gift cards to those incredibly awesome and influential readers. I am a lucky blogger.

Cheers, everyone. Here’s to a fabulous 2012 for all of us!

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Roughly 11 years ago, my friend Bean and I found each other. The details of our early friendship are long and sordid and involve way more than anyone, other than the two of us, would find amusing. Just know that we had known each other for years, yet barely acknowledged one another, then one night, in the light of a full moon, we bonded over a single Zeppelin tune.

Okay, I don’t know if that moon thing is true, but the way we connected…my mind sees it that way And, the Zeppelin thing? Totally happened.

I was at a point in my life, with a young daughter, where I was looking for friends whom I truly respected and I felt like that about her. So, a few months later, I sat down to discuss being friends with her. I ASKED her to be my best friend like it was a business transaction. Weird, right? Only, it wasn’t. Nothing has ever been weird with us.

We used to talk. A lot. Every day, actually. We were pregnant for our sons at the same time…due just three weeks apart. And, when mine was born seven weeks early, she listened as I cried over what was happening to him. She heard me as I wept over not knowing what the future would bring. She comforted me, and when she couldn’t comfort me, she would just quietly BE THERE.

Her son was born nine weeks later with two collapsed lungs. Was I there for her? Not like she was for me. I had a nine week old, very sick baby. Did she understand? Of course she did. She has always understood.

She is always there for me. I love her a lot. Through every bit of the ups and downs of having a special-needs, medically-fragile child, she has been a rock.

Almost three weeks ago, her son came down with…something. Fever, vomiting, cramps and other symptoms that made it seem, at first, to be a run-of-the-mill virus. But, it didn’t go away. He kept getting worse.

A few nights ago, he was admitted to the hospital and we have come to find out that it’s not just a virus. This boy who was a typical, active, healthy nine year old just a few weeks ago, is now fighting a battle that no one saw coming. Just like that, my best friend has joined me in the ranks of being the parent of a child with medical problems.

And, now it’s my turn to be what she has always been. It’s my turn to hold her hand, and listen, and comfort her and quietly BE THERE.

I kind of hate her for giving me such big shoes to fill.

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I sat down at my keyboard this morning ready to type a lighthearted post. I am pressed for time (what else is new?) and looked down at the clock on my monitor to note it and keep myself to a strict 20 minute limit. Then I saw the date.

9/9/2011

And, I completely erased what I had started.

There is nothing lighthearted about being two days away from the 10th anniversary of the attacks. It is a date, 10 years old, that feels like yesterday; the images so clear that I am sure a decade could not have possibly passed.

Seeing the calendar takes me away from this still, quiet room. My mind, instantly, sees the Trade Center with smoke billowing from the sides. It sees faces looking up in terror, thousands of people walking across the Brooklyn Bridge and it imagines what it was like to be on one of those planes.

I can’t see a clear blue sky without thinking of that day. I can’t hear planes flying overhead and think nothing of it. That day changed every bit of normal that I ever felt.

I think about these people.

I wonder how to explain to my children that there are people who are, inexplicably, evil, or why they have had three cousins fight in Iraq and Afghanistan. One of our nephews is over there now. He was the ring bearer in my wedding 14 years ago; young enough to be called a kid…though, undoubtedly, now a man.

I see lives lost, lives changed and I see the world in an entirely different light. A light dimmed by my own skepticism and worry.

Next week, I will come back to this new normal and write again without consideration of the date. I will find humor in the mundane and laughter in the everyday.

But, I will never, ever forget.

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