A year ago, I posted 100 Irresolutions—things I would not do in 2008. Here is my report. My failures are highlighted in red. Of course.

I am quite defensive of some of the highlighted lines. Not my fault! Beyond my control! It was a bad day!

Other failures are due solely to the many flaws in my character.

I WILL NOT

1. be entranced by alpaca farm commercials.
2. lose 50 or more pounds.
3. travel to Michigan for any reason.
4. meet Alton Brown.
5. switch to Charmin.
6. wear a hairnet.
7. eat mussels.
8. knit cozies for small appliances.
9. take up kick boxing.
10. write here daily.
11. buy drinks for everyone in a bar.
12. get married.
13. use a pressure cooker.
14. short sheet the bed as a joke.
15. eat hot dogs purchased at the zoo.
16. place a long-distance call to the Eastern Hemisphere.
17. call the insurance company whilst angry.
18. drink red Koolaid.
19. read anything by J.K. Rowling
20. attend a Lenny Kravitz concert
21. become addicted to quarter-pump toffee nut, quarter-pump hazelnut, half-pump vanilla, half-caf organic soy triple shot venti 140 degree lattes WITH foam.
22. complain about the writer’s strike.
23. watch the Academy Awards.
24. learn the choreography for “Thriller”.
25. take a bus down the entire length of Colfax Avenue.
26. eat at the Taco John’s in Longmont, Colorado.
27. cook SOS for dinner.
28. write about the time I went to a nudist camp in college.
29. dye my hair red.
30. get my Christmas tree without sniffing it for animal pee first.
31. shop at Steve and Barry’s for pants.
32. find myself eating blueberry pie in a retirement RV park on Highway 285.
33. feel a little jealous when people announce pregnancies.
34. get strep throat.
35. paint my fingernails blue.
36. tell anyone I hate them.
37. attempt to find happiness in a can of Ranch Pringles.
38. doubt the love Brad Pitt has for Angelina Jolie.
39. switch to three squares, as recommended for the environment.
40. do the Icky Shuffle.
41. shake hands with Putin.
42. find myself jumping on to Phil’s little mat and waiting breathlessly for him to tell me, “You’re Team #1!”
43. eat buffalo cheese.
44. spend the 4th of July in Boulder.
45. start wearing a watch.
46. complain about packing lunches.
47. bug my husband to paint our walls wacky colors.
48. turn my electric blanket past “2” on the little dial, no matter how chilly our room may be when I go to bed.
49. defend Lynn Spears.
50. suddenly begin understanding Linux.
51. keep those same three pictures above our bed—redecorate, already!
52. drink a whiskey drink, drink a vodka drink, drink a lager drink, drink a cider drink—at least not all at once.
53. get blogging inspiration from songs on my iTunes list.
54. admit I have Tubthumping on my iPod. And I like it.
55. watch “Xanadu” curled up on the couch with my husband.
56. have tea with Camilla Parker Bowles.
57. get a hole in one.
58. start smoking again.
59. vote for someone just because they claim to have a certain faith.
60. vote against someone based solely on their faith.
61. gripe about an extra day in February.
62. bowl a 300.
63. bowl a 200.
64. take all the hot water.
65. order fish and chips all the time.
66. neglect the waffle iron.
61. wear heels to the museum.
62. keep the baby teeth.
63. take the scale out of the bathroom cupboard.
64. google various symptoms.
65. pay full price for any item of clothing.
66. consume black licorice.
67. get another dog.
68. go back on a promise I made in early 2006 that we’d go to Chuck E. Cheese in 2008.
69. neglect those two bushes in the backyard.
70. take the stairs three at a time.
71. always order ranch dressing on every salad.
72. pout.
73. covet items in the Anthropologie and Chasing Fireflies catalogs.
74. blame the dog.
75. forget to order guacamole on the side.
76. make fun of the sci-fi shows my husband likes to watch.
77. continue hanging on to every art project/masterpiece of art my children create.
78. plan garage sales for “next weekend”.
79. hide Oreo Cakesters on the shelf above the dryer.
80. roll my eyes so much.
81. expect my husband to read my mind.
82. serve spaghetti more than three times a month.
83. let the dry cleaning pile up for too long.
84. blather on and on about my new Mac.
85. convince my husband to buy a Mini Sport, pepper white, with a black roof.
86. hitchhike.
87. freak out just because my eldest will start middle school in 2008…
88. let the sledding hills tempt me.
89. promise my kids we’ll do something, then not follow through.
90. eat foods on a dare.
91. be so hard on myself.
92. complain about aging.

A few months ago, I wrote about giving Flintstones vitamins to my kids. They had no clue who the Flintstones were and are still pretty shaky regarding those from the town of Bedrock.

The generation gap rages on.

Every American child was issued a Big Wheel by the federal government in the mid-1970s, including my husband and me. I remember long trains of neighborhood children riding their Big Wheels down the sidewalk. Often the bikes were tied together with jump ropes.

Our family’s Big Wheel met a tragic end when my younger sister rode down a rocky and uneven dirt hill next to our house and flipped end over end. This caused the front wheel to pop off and the steering wheel to crack. She didn’t cry, in typical-her fashion. Instead, she stood up, dusted off, picked up the pieces, opened the gate to our backyard, and slammed them down on the patio in disgust.

Bye, Big Wheel. By 1980, landfills from the Atlantic to the Pacific were clogged with black, red, blue, and yellow corroded plastic and we moved on to Jordache jeans.

Toy companies are wisely capitalizing on Gen-X childhood nostalgia. When we noticed Big Wheels are back, we had to get one. Joel was our chosen recipient, and Christmas would be the perfect time to pass the torch.

I wrapped the big box on Christmas Eve. My husband and I had a nice guffaw over the child model on the box wearing a HELMET. I’m all for helmets when skiing or riding a real bike, but for motoring the Big Wheel around on the back patio? Give me a break.

Joel was nearly faint with anticipation when he saw the large box next to the tree on Christmas morning. To a 5 year old, the more gargantuan the box, the better the gift. He ripped off the paper as the other kids crowded around. There was silence in the room.

“It’s a bike? A tricycle?”

“It’s a BIG WHEEL, guys! A BIG WHEEL!” we screeched with great indignity.

“Oh! Is it for riding?” Joel asked.

We assured him he would be riding it whether he wanted to or not because WE HAD BIG WHEELS AS KIDS, TOO! ISN’T THAT SPECIAL and YOU WILL HAVE FUN! Then we launched our personal Big Wheel memories—skidding out in gutters, busting holes in the hard back tires, Aunt Alison’s demolition, the moveable seat.

By mid-morning, when the wrapping paper dust had settled and I had harvested eight pieces of scotch tape from the bottoms of my bare feet, my husband put it together.

Joel rode it around inside the house, but had trouble getting good traction. We promised him it would be more fun outside on a rough surface. Beatrix took it for a spin, too, scooting with her feet.

It was motivation for him to get dressed.

Hatted, coated, booted, he climbed on and propelled himself across the patio. He pedaled backward, forward, in circles.

My parents arrived for dinner, so he came inside to visit. He likes his Big Wheel, despite early skeptimism. I probably like it more than he, which is okay. My memories and loves don’t have to be his, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t bring a thread of my childhood into my 21st century living room on December 25th.

Someday, he might find himself gushing over Thomas the Tank Engine’s Action Canyon to his own child.

I just hope the kid on the box playing with Thomas in a non-descript living room isn’t wearing a helmet.