When my daughter was little she was an N’Sync fan. Remember N’Sync? Slick hair, slick clothes, smooth voices, boy band extraordinaire?

One of my friends gave her a t-shirt that looked just like this:

I know this shirt is around here somewhere, but I can’t find it which is why I took this image from an auction site and didn’t snap one myself. I would have NEVER gotten rid of it. She wore it to bed every night and I’m sure I have it stashed somewhere safe, but my “somewhere safe stash” is always a place I can’t remember. It will turn up, probably next year when I’m looking for a turkey baster.

Somewhere in her youth, I started liking N’Sync too. Maybe it was all the Barney that did me in and when I couldn’t take another minute of songs about sunshine, I took to her new-found interest in music I could actually tolerate. Over the past five years or so, my tolerating turned into true appreciation for the solo artist Justin Timberlake became after N’Sync split up. Recently, my appreciation has turned into JT being just about all I listen to.

Yesterday, my husband surprised me and my daughter with Justin Timberlake tickets for tonight’s concert. JT has managed to do what very few people can, which is close the 27 year generation gap between me and my kid. We both screamed when we found out we were going. We are both exceptionally excited about this show.

So, I WILL find this shirt. Not because either one of us would actually wear it (or fit in it, for that matter), but because it’s a piece of something we’ve shared together from the start. It’s a fond memory for me and I love that we are going to add this concert to the scrapbook in my mind.

But there is one more thing that needs to be said and my heart wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t get it off my chest. Before we leave for the show I’m going to give my daughter a hug and whisper in her ear, “I’m so excited to be seeing Justin Timberlake with you, but no matter how happy it would make you or how much we could bond, I want you to know that I will never, ever like One Direction.”

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I missed the 15th deadline because I was out with friends, but it’s still the 15th somewhere in America so I win by default.

I have a very special, holiday gift guide for special needs kids that I’m working on, but it’s so special that I’m saving it for Monday. Mondays get more blog traffic than Fridays and special needs kids need all the traffic they can get. Plus, I wanted to see how many times I could use “special” in one paragraph.

Tomorrow (today) is also going to be a special day for me and my typical child, even though she gets the shaft and gets mentioned on this blog very rarely. Unless you know us in person, because then I talk about her all the time and tell you what a freak she is. And, I mean that in the best ways possible. I’m not kidding. More on that tomorrow (today).

So, anyway, tonight was special friends and special kids and my wonderfully special husband, though I’ll give you more details on why I’m giving him compliments tomorrow (today), too.

Until the 16th. (Dang it, it already is.)

Momo

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This is blurry, but you can still get an idea of the beautiful bowl of goodness that sat before me. There was only one rotten one in the whole bunch.

Want to guess which one I bit into without looking?

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Do you consider yourself lucky? How about fortunate? Blessed?

If you use one of those phrases with any frequency, in my opinion you’re doing it right. By “it” I mean, life.

I am the complainingest complainer who ever complained (Hi, Chad!) and as I told a co-worker today, I worry that catastrophe will follow me because it pretty much does. Of course, my catastrophes are not really bad at all. A little West Nile Virus, pneumonia, meningitis, antibiotic-resistant infection, concussion, congenital heart disease, or threat of pulmonary embolism never hurt anyone. Wait.

But, despite my ailments or those of my son, I consider myself to be a fortunate person. I have great relatives, I married into a family of wonderful people, I have terrific friends, decent health, a job and co-workers I love, a great community – I could go on and on.

Do I have bad days? Yes. Every day has me facing something lousy and I DO complain about it. No sleep, sick kids, no money, car repairs, the stuff we all deal with on a day-to-day basis – and “stuff” is putting it lightly. Or non-cussingly, if you will. Maybe venting helps me deal with what life throws at me. Maybe keeping the little things bottled up would make my anxiety worse.

I think crying is therapeutic, I know my workouts are the best thing I’ve ever done for my mental state, and I’m pretty sure complaining helps me think through my issues. Zoloft doesn’t hurt, either.

Even though I have to do all of those things to keep my mind right, I still tell myself how lucky I am Every. Single. Day.

Because I’m pretty sure the greatest way to straighten out your head is to be grateful that you still have one.

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