Well, well.  Happy new year, all.  And just in time – I’ve never needed a new year so badly.  I was so ready to drop-kick 2011 Beckham-style out the door and usher in 2012, fresh, hopeful, and, as of yet, untainted.  Hallelujah and amen.

You may be wondering what life has looked like since I last blogged 9 days ago.  Or maybe you’re not (likely).  Regardless, YOU ARE GOING TO KNOW.

I wrapped up my job at Emma.
I flew from Nashville to Kansas City.
I snuggled my nephews.
I read four books in seven days:
- “One Day”
- “Room” (the best book I read all year)
- “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo”
- “Incendiary”
I ate so much cheese.
I slept full nights.
I played Dance Central on the X-Box.
We made it through the first “divorced Christmas.”
Things were awkward and sometimes painful.
But we did it.
And I love my family for it.
I drove from Kansas City back to Denver with Becca.
And Greebs and Toad.
Every day I declare war against dog hair.
I bought and assembled one of these.
Zion’s adoption was made official.
He is irrevocably a Parsons.
He is the best thing that happened in 2011.
I spent multiple days cleaning and organizing our home.
Four different sets of friends got engaged (including Greta, OMG!).
I got a new phone number.
And I start my new job on Tuesday.

I rolled into the new year a burning train wreck, having spent a solid two hours of December 31st on my bed in uncontrollable tears before pulling myself up by my bootstraps, throwing my body into the shower, and willing myself to go to a few parties.  It’s been awhile since I’ve cried so hard – the honest, gasping kind of tears, the sort that leave your eyes stinging and your entire face swollen.  2011 was a kick in the gut, to say the least – and a good, long cry seemed the most appropriate way to mourn what went down, and bid the year adieu.  With a bold middle finger.

But as I stared at my puffy, snotty countenance in the mirror, wondering how I was ever going to recover enough to show my face at these parties, I remembered the part in the Bible about how those who grieve are given beauty for their ashes, and joy for their mourning, and peace for their despair.

Now, anyone who knows me knows that I’m not one to go slinging around scripture insensitively – especially when it comes to the big, weighty things.  Life is too hard and people’s hearts too fragile to offer Bible verses as mere Band-Aids.

But I have to say – if it weren’t for this idea, that God takes the burning wreckage of our lives and gives us beauty instead, I would have no hope.  None.  The fact that he can take the hopeless cinder pile of my heart, and transform it into something not only worthwhile but beautiful… well, this is where I’m staking my hope.  And they say that where you place your hope, that’s where your joy will be found.

So, onward.  New year.  Same old me, but new hope.  Hopefully.

Me: “Hey Micah, do you know what D.O.B. stands for? Hint: it’s something they ask you for at the doctor’s office.”

Micah (8): “Oh! Di-O-Betes.”

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Mom: “Mix up your soup.”

Tyler (6): “Yeah – mix and mingle in a jinglin’ beat.”

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And Zion’s hair is showing early signs of becoming Kid ‘n Play.

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This weekend, I’m wishing you laughs in your bellies, peace in your hearts, and as few listens as possible of Paul McCartney’s “Wonderful Christmastime.”

For being a self-proclaimed control freak, there are a lot of things about my life that I did not plan, that I could not have planned.

I’ve experienced:
unachieved goals
unanswered prayers
unfulfilled dreams
mistakes
defeats
derailments
dead ends

I’m sure I’m no different from anyone reading this when I say that I have not always gotten what I wanted.

But I’ve also experienced:
surprises
provisions
little graces
big graces
friendships
victories
adventures

I don’t understand it.  I can’t see the pattern or the grand design, and I have no idea where this life will lead – is leading.  Half the time, I am bumbling around in the darkness, just praying that I don’t stumble off a cliff and splatter at the bottom of the canyon like a farm egg.

But even in the midst of the confusion, I can recognize that there are things to be thankful for.

• I am so thankful that somehow – somehow – I live in Denver, Colorado.
• I am so thankful that my family is, for all of our brokenness, made up of the people who are in it.
• I am so thankful that I have a body that works, that will run me 13.1 miles in Seattle on Sunday.
• I am so thankful that I work for an amazing company in a job that provides me with enough (more than enough, come on) income.
• I am so thankful for car insurance and that the fact that my car was stolen means that I am lucky enough to own a vehicle at all.
• I am so thankful for the friendships that have carried me, encouraged me, and sustained me.
• I am so thankful I did not marry any of the men I thought that maybe I could have married (sorry, guys, but I really am).
• I am so thankful for my cities – Seattle, Nashville, and Denver – and that all three are equally “home.”
• I am so thankful that my plans are not The Plan.

I am so thankful for the twists and turns, the things I could not have predicted, the “no”s when I wanted “yes”s, the tears when I wanted joy, the loneliness when I wanted companionship, all of which have propelled me further down the tracks through the land for which I’m meant.

And I’m thankful for you, known and unknown readers, my companions on this written journey.  I wish I could bake each of you a pie.

Happy Thanksgiving.  May our hearts overflow with gratitude even for the things that we don’t understand.

Julie: “What color is your car – red?”
Me: “No – dark green.”
Julie: “Oh!  Samsonite – I was way off.”

By this time on Saturday, I had already climbed to the top of the highest mountain in Colorado.

Today, I am still in my pajamas, drinking coffee, and trying to figure out how I’m going to survive today’s heat.  I think I’ll bake for the neighbors in hopes of being invited to their BBQ that I overheard them talking about through my office window when they were on their front porch.

You wish I was joking.  I kind of wish I was joking, too, but… the cake is in the oven.

Fanciness, merriment, and roistering.

Bacon-wrapped jalapeños stuffed with cheese.

And then, as if the night couldn’t get any more awesome, KARAOKE.

And even better, twirling at ROBERT’S.

I didn’t even look like a hobo.

Today, though?  I totally do.

Lordy.

This is the week, the one that happens every December, the one that I always tell myself that I’ll do differently next year but I never do.

It’s the week before Christmas, which always seems to be busier than the week of Christmas.  Parties, people, events, high heels, big hair, sugar, wine, beer, money that slips away like a hand full of water.  It’s the most fun, most crazy-making week.

I haven’t worked out since Sunday, which makes me feel completely deranged.  There is a pile of clothes, shoes, coats, and bras on my bed, and I just keep pushing it over to climb under the covers at night.  I haven’t been getting enough sleep.  I’ve eaten cookies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  My toenail polish is chipped.  I haven’t responded to emails and texts and phone calls (I probably owe you one – I’m so sorry).  My level of busyness is making me a gigantically cranky stress ball.

Tonight is our company holiday party, and last night, I pulled out the dress I was planning on wearing.  It’s wrinkled and dirty from last year.  Why do I never learn to have the dress dry-cleaned at the end of the season so it’s fresh the next year?  Now I’m going to look like a hobo.

So yes.  If you see a cranky, deranged woman in a stained satin dress wandering the streets of downtown Nashville tonight, hobbling in her high heels because of her broken toe and carrying her lipstick in a bindle instead of a purse, that’s me.

Or it’s Mindy McCready.

It’s either Mindy McCready or me.

As we waited for the sun to sink in the west, 4-year old Kate asked me why the fireworks hadn’t started yet.

“Because,” I explained, “the sky is still light.  The sun needs to travel all the way to California before it will be dark.”

I felt proud of my explanation – until little Annabelle piped up, “I thought the EARTH turned.”

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I was owned by a 6-year old.

For the rest of the details of my holiday weekend, watch this:

This Land from Annie Parsons on Vimeo.

This weekend marked the beginning of the Best Summer Since 2007.

The summer of 2007 was my favorite to date.  I still lived in Seattle, and spent every waking moment outside in the sunshine, on the water, in the mountains, with friends.  I knew that my life in the Northwest was a ticking clock, as I was leaving that September for the great unknown – so I took advantage of every opportunity I was presented with.

The summers of 2008 and 2009, I lived in Nashville, and had no desire to be outside.  Whatsoever.  At all.  I was in a bad mood for 4 months.

It’s amazing to now live in a place where I WANT to be outside again.  Between Friday and Sunday, I walked 27 miles.  And then yesterday, along with some family and friends, I climbed Mt. Rosa.

Y’all, my freckles are out of control these days.

My goal is to climb at least 6 14ers this summer, and walk 1,000 miles.  I just pulled that number out of the air right now, but you know what?  I bet I can do it.  I bet I can walk 1,000 miles before Labor Day.

I bet it so much that I’m writing it on my blog.

I need to tell you about yesterday’s drive.

Wait.  First, Merry Christmas.  Merry Christmas!  It’s heeeeeeere!

Now for the rest.  It should be obvious by the fact that I’m posting this blog, but lest you wring your hands throughout the holidays, I should let you know that I made it to Colorado last night.  The trip took me 11 hours rather than the typical 9, but all in all, smooth (albeit white-knuckled) sailing.  The roads really were icy.

As I drove, I was thinking that one of the worst insults someone could give me would be to call me a bad driver.  That would connote incompetence and stupidity – neither of which I’m really going for the gold in.  And after yesterday’s drive, I am even more convinced that when it comes to driving, I am extremely proficient.

There was only one moment in which I kind of lost control of the car.  I say kind of because it was when I was going over a bridge, and the ice is always worse on bridges, but you HAVE to drive over them to get to the other side – so I couldn’t do anything about it.  Anyway, when I hit the ice, I felt the wheels spin and try to grip the road, but they didn’t find anything – isn’t it weird that we can FEEL when the tires are freaking out? – so they spun more, which made the car lurch, and the Honda CATAPULTED forward.

If my heart were a horse, in that moment, it would have reared up on its hind legs.

Luckily, dry pavement was waiting on the other side, and everything was recovered (minus my pulse).

So, all in all, an inconsequential story.  Sorry.

In the entire 11-hour drive, I only stopped once – in Hays, Kansas, at 2:06pm for gas and lunch.  But I was severely disappointed to discover that every fast food joint had closed at 2:00 for Christmas Eve.  My only option was to go to a little grocery store called Dillon’s and choose a sad, underwhelming sandwich from a rack near the deli: wheat bread, Swiss cheese, and turkey – the watered down kind.  There were no condiments.

I also picked up a Gala apple, but the first bite I took of it included a significant chunk of my lower lip.  I cussed, and then felt sorry for myself because I could no longer eat the apple with gusto.

When I finally hobbled in the door at my parent’s house in Colorado Springs, I announced that all I want for Christmas is a butt massage.  No one offered.

Happy Christmas to all of you!