Year’s end

December is the time for every news outlet, blog, and radio station to cash in on rehashing the last year’s worth of content.  Seems like as good a place as any to start this blog.

My general thought on 2015 is that I hope the door *does* hit it in the ass on the way out.  It marched into my life and got cozy, then bit me hard.  It has spent the last month trying to make amends, but I’m not letting go of this grudge easily.

I started the year off pregnant, hungry, and more than a little nauseous.  But happy enough.  I made it through the winter, which feels like no small feat.  Then, on what is usually one of the happiest days of the year for me, it all flipped onto its head.  Spring and summer were spent in the hospital and then in a postpartum … something.  So much of 2015 was lost to fear and anger and sadness.

So so much was gained.  I learned just how much my friends love me, how much they are willing to do to get me through a hard time.  I have Rowan, the completion of this little family we have created.  We’re all here on this planet, a little more scarred than we were before – literally, in my case – but we are *here.*  I don’t take that for granted.

Counting these blessings feels a little like thanking a tornado for only destroying half of your house.  You’re grateful you got through it, but would rather have just kept the house intact.

For 2016 I look forward to life returning to my version of normal – a little weird, but rarely dull.  Craft projects, crazy ideas, and the immediate need to do all the things.  Writing, beer, and teaching my kids to make their own fun.

But 2015?  F%^k you.


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