Come for the funny, stay for the crazy

There are no words to describe how touched I was by your supportive words and introspective comments (especially the long ones that you wrote) on my last post. And yet I'm going to ramble on anyway, as is my perogative because this is my blog.

(Cue the Bobby Brown music.*)

I know it's the holiday season and what you don't need as fellow mothers, parents, bloggers, and stressed-out adults during this season of busy malls and tight budgets is another reminder of how tough your job is and how gloomy life can be at times, so that is why I thank you for hanging in there with me. The holidays bring us such joy and happiness, but let's face it they'll also drop an anvil on your head when you're not looking. Although, the anvil will probably be wrapped in pretty ribbons and bows. Gotta keep our depression festive, know what I mean?

If you've lost an important loved one to death or distance the highs and lows are even more pronounced this time of year. You want to remember the happy times by telling tales and stories of that special person, but it is impossible to reminisce without remembering that the person you're sharing stories about is no longer with you. So you go on - and when I say "you" I mean me - ignoring the elephant in the room, not wanting to inject sadness into this already difficult season, until the weight you (um, I) carry is too tough to bear. And that's when you (I!) end up with a crazy headache after being struck in the ol' noggin.

Where the hell is my Advil?

I had hoped to rid myself of some of that heft and pain with that last post but I am afraid I may have taken my finger out of the proverbial dam, so you may be showered with introspection and tears if you come to close. If you dig that kind of stuff I welcome you to my pity party with open arms. If you plan on staying I ask that you keep an open mind and that you bring some spirit to this party. And by "spirit" I mean alcohol. Large quantities of alcohol. Because nothing helps a crying jag more than getting snackered on red wine and margaritas.

So, to reiterate...

...'Mrs. C, what did you do to this filet of horse to make it so tender?' 'It's an old family secret, you beat it with a stick until it's good and dead.'...

Please take your posts about your children and print them out. Put those pages in their baby books or another special place and save them for when they're old enough to appreciate your words. Write what you can in their baby books, fill in the correct spaces and such, but also leave them something more tangible than dates and growth charts for when they become parents and they need to hear that you were a crazed howler monkey (because they were crazed howler monkeys) during their first few years of life. Because when they're parents, and dog willing you're still there for them, you'll be sticking your righteous nose in to situations that will piss them off. They need to know that you screwed up a bunch of times, too.

[getting off my soap box]

Now then, just because this place will be littered with wadded up Kleenex and chick flick DVDs ("Beaches" is on the docket for today, tomorrow it will be "Steel Magnolias") doesn't mean there won't be funny moments. What's more fun than laughing through our tears, right? I fully intend on keeping up appearances and pretending like there is absolutely nothing wrong with me. I've been doing that for most of my life, so why stop now?

(Remind me to tell you about that time when I fell down a flight of basement steps, cracked the back of my head open on a stone wall and had to be taken by ambulance to the hospital on a backboard but all the while kept cracking jokes. Huh, I guess I just did. I guess I got carried away. Get it? "Carried away"? Backboard? Heh. Is this thing on?)

If you want something uplifting right now (I get the instant gratification thing, I have a toddler) then go check out Her Bad Auction. Go see what a bunch of women can do to make sweet, sweet lemonade out of the sour lemons that life insists on handing them. The auction is in honor of Her Bad Mother's nephew Tanner, who has Muscular Dystrophy, and proceeds will go to Muscular Dystrophy Research. The bidding on 30 amazing products and services (to date) begins on Wednesday, December 13.

So what the heck are you still doing here? Dry your eyes, little ones, and go spread some holiday cheer dammit.


*Nothing makes me happier than a high-top fade. Enjoy.