I was listening to one of my favorite CDs the other day, when I realized I hadn’t really introduced it to my 14 year old daughter. She has heard me belting out a few of the songs here and there, but she hasn’t sat down and listened to the achingly beautiful lyrics while crying about unrequited love. Because you can’t truly understand music until a guy dumps you before prom, but after you’ve bought the dress.

So I got to thinking, what if I died tomorrow and my daughter didn’t know about this CD? Because that’s the next logical thought for me; not that I won’t be around to meet my grandchildren, but that she won’t know how life changing Aretha Franklin can be.

In order to sleep tonight I need to get these items off my chest, so here in no particular order and without too much explanation (ain’t nobody got time for that) are the 10 things my daughter needs to know, understand or experience in case of my untimely demise.

1. This is what started it all, and for my benefit we will call this an album. It’s Aretha’s Gold. Actually, you should call it, Aretha’s Gold, Baby.

2. Don’t wear too much makeup. The real you is the one with the dark circles and splotchy skin. Oh wait, that’s the real me. Regardless, you can’t see your own face. Makeup was created so other people would find you attractive and if they don’t find you attractive unless you’re slathered in foundation, they are the ones who are ugly. Deep, deep in their soul.

3. Don’t ever let a person lay their hands on you without your permission, whether it’s affection or violence, it must be on your terms. If it isn’t, move swiftly and surely away from the situation and DO NOT GO BACK. Your little brother giving you hugs does not count. But, for everyone other than your brother let me say it again, DO NOT GO BACK. People don’t change, or get better, or didn’t mean it. DO NOT GO BACK.

4. It really doesn’t matter how the laundry is folded or how the dishwasher is loaded. Let it go. Let people help you.

5. Never underestimate the value of looking someone in the eye, good table manners, and saying thank you.

6. Joni Mitchell’s album, Blue. Turn it up. Get the tissues.

7. Have empathy for others. Imagine yourself in their shoes. Turning the tables does wonders for our natural inclination to judge people.

8. Never put off doing something because you don’t like the way you look. Don’t stay home because of a pimple, or worry about putting on a swimsuit because you’ve gained weight. Life is really, really short. I lost out on having a lot of fun during my 30s because I was self-conscious and I can’t get that decade back. Joni Mitchell probably wrote a song about this.

9. I’m running out of room! Take a deep breath and read this all at once. Laugh every day, travel as much as you can, go to church, work at a job you like, always do some form of exercise, wear sunscreen, and don’t do drugs (like, don’t even try them because your brain might be all, “That’s pretty sweet!” and it’s all downhill from there). Oh, and floss. Always floss.

10. Know that I love you more than sunshine and that’s really saying something.

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I read this post today and I feel the need to tell Heather that she is not alone in her imperfection and that her flaws are what make her human. We are not just our Facebook photos or Pinterest boards. We are real people with real issues. I could write a series of blog posts on medical bills alone. Also, zits at 42. I could tell you all about that.

So for Heather, I’m sharing some of my recent non-spectacular moments:

• I yelled at my kids today – like loud enough that the neighbors could hear. It was the result of two hours in the car, their constant bickering, 5:30pm traffic, and a stinkbug.

•  I gave myself a manicure while on Ambien. Again. It wasn’t pretty.

• There is a package of toilet paper sitting on my dresser. My dresser is not near any of the toilets.

• My kids eat mac & cheese from a box at least once a week.

• I suffer from pretty awful anxiety and insomnia. I grind my teeth, I pick my cuticles, I constantly shake my legs, and as soon as I get up in the morning I start thinking about how much I want it to be nighttime so I can go back to bed. Life is hard. But, it could always be harder and if I didn’t laugh about the crazy circumstances I wouldn’t be able to function.

• Sometimes I get wedgies.

• My son loves his new school, but he’s been punched twice and pushed to the ground by a high-school kid and it scares me, because I don’t want to have to hurt any children.

• This is a conversation I had with my son today:

Me: You can NOT send your status updates from the “Pocket Frogs” app to my Twitter account. I’ve told you that before and if you do it again, you will never, ever get to play another game on the iPad. Understood?

Him: Never? But, what if you’re dead?

check it out? I can’t even pronounce it.

• This is a conversation my son had with his County Developmental Disability Coordinator when she asked him (kind of ridiculous, but mandatory) questions about his self-care:

Coordinator: Do you shave yet?

Him: No, but I have a little mustache. And, I have a very, very hairy back.

• I ran three miles today and I had to stop ten times.

• I prefer to show people that I’m flawed, because then I can exceed their expectations. Sometimes. My house can never exceed expectations because it smells like burnt coffee and dog feet.

Now it’s your turn. Tell me something real.

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My husband is having a stressful week. I think he’s over-analyzing a situation and has nothing to worry about, and he thinks I’m glib and annoying. Toe-MAY-toe, toe-MAH-toe.

The problem is that when you’ve been with someone for 18 years (our relationship is officially an adult!) their pain becomes your pain; it’s like you’re stressed-out by proxy, but in our case my husband is feeling queasy and I am eating all the guacamole.

I have some experience with this anxiety stuff. Just ask my fingernails, my waistline, and my bar bill. What I don’t have experience with is someone I love going through it. I talk to strangers all day long for a living, but I have no idea what to say to my soul-mate other than, “Pass the chips.”

What I cling to is knowing that the most horrible, poop-inducing, anxiety-ridden moments of my life resulted in something great. Two premature births, all of my son’s surgeries, and speaking at a keynote in front of roughly 4,000 people stand out in my mind, but they were all necessary and wonderful in the grand scheme of things.

Shaking Like a Leaf at the Voices of the Year Community Keynote, BlogHer ’11

These events have taught me one very important lesson; good stuff happens to those who don’t die of dehydration from their nervous poops. So, see? I am not glib. I put forethought into donning my rose-colored glasses.

Even if my husband wants nothing more than to rip them off my face and throw them into the street.

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This week has been anxiety-ridden for me. There has been a lot of teeth-grinding, cuticle-picking, and ingestion of guacamole. I haven’t slept well either. I woke up every morning before 4:00am and when I did sleep, my dreams were filled with disastrous circumstances involving guns, seedy neighborhoods, and baby poop.

One night this week, I dreamed that my son and I were running away from a crazed man and we hightailed it down the alley where Bruce Wayne’s parents were killed and ended up hiding under the porch of a house that was supported by concrete blocks. We hid there, me with a loaded gun in my hand (a revolver of all things…like I was in some kind of Wild West movie, because anyone who knows me realizes I would clearly pick a 9mm) (I digress), we heard the man approaching and as is typical, we must have been about to die because I woke up.

The next day, when I was wide awake, I dropped my daughter off at her softball game while my son and I ventured off in search of food. Not in the hunter/gatherer sort of way, but the drive-thru kind of way. With Siri directing me, I followed turn after turn until we found ourselves in a part of town called North Hilltop, which is just west of a neighborhood called The Bottoms. It looks a lot like this, but without the police car and cute blue house:

© Copyright 2013, WBNS-TV, Inc.

The Hilltop recently had a fella going from house to house who the media dubbed, “The Hilltop Creeper” and I was driving through the side streets thinking about my dream when I passed a porch supported by concrete blocks and I realized, just hours earlier, I had foreseen my own death. But, instead of a revolver, I was armed with a veggie burger from Burger King which wasn’t going to hurt anybody, unless “anybody” is my large intestines.

Obviously, we made it out alive with only minimal damage to my already whacked-out psyche and abdomen. This proves that dreams don’t always come true and I’m really glad because the baby poop dream was pretty disgusting.

It also proves that I’m glad this week is over. My Friday involves yoga pants, a blanket, working from my couch, and possibly Whoopie Pies, which is to say it’s not all that different from any other day, except the Friday part. Either way, I’m happy about it.

I hope you enjoy your weekend as much as I plan to enjoy mine. Sweet dreams, people. Sweet dreams.

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