Hello, poor, neglected blog. Gosh almighty, it’s been a long time. Such is the danger in owning a cookie shop right around Christmas– it’s rather like a submarine dive under the North Pole: you just put your head down, and resurface when it’s over.

Last night I slept for eleven hours. ELEVEN! I can not tell you how good I feel. There simply are no words and this blog is such a poor medium for passing along emotion through interpretive dance. (Clearly I’m a little giddy from all this restorative slumber, forgive me.) Luckily, I woke up in time for one, final Reverb Broads prompt:

December 31, 2011
What is your “one word”? One word for this year, one word for next year.
2011 was the year of self-knowledge. Rather hard won, too. There were things I learned about myself that weren’t particularly easy to face, but so, so important to how I carry on from here. Hidden, malicious thoughts I’ve been carrying around about myself bubbled to the surface and temporarily derailed any equilibrium I thought I had…in the end, it was like a blood-letting, and the leeches, while unpleasant, did their job well. I’m ending the year with the word “unencumbered” and am grateful for it.
2012? Ah, that’s easy. The word for any new year has, and will always be “perfection.” Today I’m scrubbing the house from top to bottom in anticipation, and tomorrow I will wake up in a perfectly clean house, to a perfect new year. I will tread rather lightly through my morning, enjoying the short-lived time when I am as blameless and serene as a baby. In short, before I screw anything up. I will look forward to a year of perfect parenting, my perfect training season and marathon run, and my perfect organization system that is waiting to be put into place, just as soon as I figure out what the heck that looks like.
I can hear certain folks smacking their foreheads as I type. My friends, with their deep and affectionate concern, have periodically told me that I need to relax, not ramp up. And I’ve thought about it. I’ve considered it. But, nope. Sorry. I need to do more. I need to commit my very best intentions to the people and things that I love so completely that at the end of my days the effort causes me to become one of those cartoon characters, Wile E. Coyote, perhaps, right when he’s hit with a flame-thrower. In the final scene, I should simply disintegrate into a pile of ash.
In my brain, that makes total sense.
The trick comes with being able to stay grounded in the conviction that I am doing all this for love; the love I feel for my kids, Hubby, family and friends. The love of the life I am damn lucky to have and the world I am fortunate enough to inhabit. If I can do that, not one thing I do could possibly feel like a chore or an imposition.
Shouldn’t be hard for someone as perfect as myself…or as perfect as I’m going to be for about four hours, tomorrow morning.

The Rise & Fall of a Momocracy

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