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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The other day, me, my friend Bean and our two families were talking about getting together. We were going to go to Bean’s house.

She said, “If you come over, you need to know that my house is a mess. There is clutter everywhere.”

I assured her, that I completely understood, but I don’t think she believed me. I’m here to tell her that she’s not alone. Here’s why…

This is my dining room table. Also, you should know that we recently ATE at this table while this massive pile sat with us. I had to do a two-armed swoop to push everything to one side, because the only other place to sit is our breakfast nook and that space doesn’t look any better.

Let’s take a closer look, shall we?

1. Lots of socks, because my husband has started doing the laundry and he won’t cart them around like I do. Now, they include one baseball and one softball sock from the games that were played IN JULY.

2. Two first aid kits.

3. Golf balls in a Santa bag.

4. Two mini water bottles.

5. Last week’s clean laundry; some thrown over chairs, some folded, but for goodness sake, NOT PUT AWAY.

6. A coverless book called Magic Eye II.

7. Buried under the book is a stuffed reindeer named Comet.

8. Buried under all of it is a homework assignment. Lucky, for us, it was from three weeks ago.

9. And, the white thing that looks like a tablecloth, is actually the table pad from Thanksgiving dinner.

Stay tuned for next time, when I make Bean feel even better about her house when I post a picture of my kitchen counter!

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My daughter brought home a poem today that she wrote about herself.

I am energetic and creative.

I wonder how many stars there are.

I hear the wind blowing.

I see the sun glowing.

I want to travel the world.

I am energetic and creative.

I pretend to always know what I’m talking about.

I touch the grass.

I worry about money.

I say God Bless America.

I dream of going to Stanford.

I hope to have a good future.

I am energetic and creative.

From this I can gather three things of which I was not previously aware. First, when she says, “I know what I’m talking about” I will no longer believe her and, second, we need to not discuss money problems in front of the kids.

Third, my heart broke a little when she said, “…Stanford.” I have never imagined her anywhere but right here, at Ohio State.

Because if she leaves town in six years, who the heck is going to help her brother with his 9th grade math homework?

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I felt the need to tell my son that, no matter what the problem,

“Sharts” are never the answer.

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