Well, 2012 is gone. Like poisonous cotton candy with fleeting sweetness and ineffective poison. I’m glad it’s gone. It was a year of weather and days and buildings. It was a year of eating food and using organs and metabolism. Photosynthesis happened. A lot of photosynthesis and the Krebs cycle occurred pretty much all over—I can’t just point to one spot. And gravity.
There were other less-happy moments, though. It wasn’t all awesome. Yoda, one of our guinea pigs died. On the last day of 2012 actually. But before that, other things happened that maybe we’ll just all agree to forget. Like cloudy days. Let’s forget those.
Some other highlights:
Jill and I did not produce any offspring. This is without a doubt the best thing about 2012. I can’t stress that enough. As I’m writing this, our youngest is two. And while he is awesome and amazing and miraculous (and every other cliché parents toss out seemingly unaware that they aren’t the first human beings to reproduce even though they goddamn act like it and express these pretty standard insights like they’re new to all of humanity) he’s also the last. He’s the light at the end of the tunnel. He’s the bringer of the light. He’s the one who will find the lost portion of the bible at an archeological dig in 2032—the part that tells us we’re all just a food supply for a superior race that will return once the lost portion of the bible is found in 2032.
We got the bathroom done. We paid some guy to finish the two-year project. After I tore it down to the studs, rewired it, installed the insulation and almost all the drywall with my brother, we just had to pay some guy—literally just some guy named Chuck—to finish it. He mudded and taped and slapped tiles everywhere and installed the floor and put up the sink and did an OK job. Just OK. He was just an OK guy. But now we have a bathroom instead of a hypothermia closet.
Ian got the living shit scared out of him by R.L. Stine. He saw an episode of The Haunting Hour in which a doll comes to life and attempts to replace a real girl (I think it was actually a biopic of Selena Gomez). Well *SPOILER ALERT* the show sucked. But not before it rendered Ian completely incapable of being left alone on any floor of our house no matter what time or how much sunlight is bouncing against the walls. It can be noon on a cloudless day and 50 people can be standing on the main floor of our house, but if no one stands on the stairs, constantly talking to him, Ian won’t go upstairs to use the bathroom—even though it is now the nicest room in our house.
We launched two blogs. At the time, we thought we were unleashing two Godzillas on an unsuspecting humanity. Full of fire and unspeakable power. We were afraid for you all and, more importantly, us. We considered hiring lawyers and assistants and handlers in a preemptive move against the pitfalls of sudden, yet inevitable fame. After all, no one blogs. And the few that do find themselves suffocating under dollar bills. Literally choking to death on currency. So we were a little discouraged that people didn’t flock to our sites and the Internet didn’t catch on fire. I kept checking for new comments and I even responded to one that was obviously spam just to show how unbelievably funny and ironic I am. And that opened the floodgates. Thousands of spam messages stormed the site. I had to go to the blog all the time and delete pages and pages of comments, reading almost all of them. It was only a few months ago when I realized that I could install a free plug-in to eliminate all the spam. But now I miss the spam.
Elsa did not commit any unspeakable crimes. Yeah, whew. I’m not sure how many more years I’m going to be able to write that.
I was fired. On a complete fluke, I became a writer for Family Time magazine. I wrote a piece about homeschooling for their October issue. Then the managing editor asked me to write a continuing education piece for the November issue. Then the editor told me that I was named the “Education Writer” for the entire magazine and I would have a feature every month called “Back to Class”! After I submitted my December article I was told never to send anything again—they found someone to write articles for $10 each. I wish them luck with their $10 articles. I really do. I’m totally serious. I’m not being facetious. Good luck with that Family Time! I’m not looking to burn any bridges here. It was a fun, confusing gig, but hey, who knows? You know? I mean, I’m writing this for free, right? So maybe I could go as low as $8.99. Write one a day, BAM! That’s lunch. A Potbelly lunch.
A bunch of other stuff. We got a new lawn, a new dishwasher, and one speeding ticket each. We tore down our fence, tore up our kitchen, and tear up every time I read this Mark Twain quote: “The two most important days in your life are the day you are born, and the day you find out why.” We went to Wisconsin Dells, a friend’s house in Michigan, and crazy. We received a dire diagnosis for the Jetta—she ain’t going to make it. We reached our limits. And we all stumbled past the finish line, not caring what place we were in, just happy that we could take our shoes off.
So that was 2012. I don’t know what lessons you learned by reading that, but I sure didn’t learn any by living it. Which means I’d rather be you. But this year, Jill and I have big plans:
- Reworking/thinking/charging this blog
- Writing “I Shat Upon That!”
- Going “Primal”
- Getting older
- Instilling the Code in Elsa
- Complying with all active restraining orders
- Taking raw milk baths
Of course, we hope you’ll help us add to that list.
2013. We’re going to go heavy and go home.