I hate myself.

Wait, let me clarify that. I hate things about myself. Mostly the large things, like my thighs and my waistline.

I hate that stores don’t stock shoes in size 11, how I can’t find a decent sports bra, or that shopping for eyeglasses involves me telling the sales clerk that she needs to show me the frames for pumpkin-headed people.

I hate not being able to cross my legs under a table, having no room in airplanes, or that the seat in my car doesn’t go back far enough for my liking. Also, long-sleeved shirts that look more like 3/4 length.

And, for crying out loud, my earlobes.

Of course this is just the way I was made and I wouldn’t be me without resembling a giant – I’d certainly have a lot less fodder for this blog, that’s for sure. Just once, though, I’d like to wear heels without towering over everyone.

Sure there are benefits; like being able to reach the tall shelf without a stool and never having to worry about someone blocking your view. That’s about it. Being a big girl ain’t easy.

Palming a basketball, however? Piece of cake.

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We went to a wedding yesterday for our nephew Mike and his lovely bride, Lisa. This picture was shamelessly stolen from my sister-in-law. Thanks, Laura! Though next time, let’s make sure we watch for background light diffusion and foreground shadows. I know these technical things because I often take pictures of my dog with my phone. That pretty much makes me an expert.

Mike was just a kid when his uncle and I started dating; back then, we still called him Michael. It was before middle school and braces and long before he joined the Marines and served in Afghanistan. I never anticipated that I’d be giving that kid unsolicited marital advice, but while he was busy growing up, I was busy getting relationship experience under my belt. It’s kind of my duty to tell him. It’s like I’m the Godfather. Except I’m a woman. And, not in the mafia. Here goes:

Dear Mike,

First, let me say that your brother gave an excellent speech last night: “People always say, ‘Don’t go to bed mad,’ but when the kids are crying and you’re tired, and fighting with your spouse, sometimes you just need to go to bed and things will be better in the morning.” I concur. Wholeheartedly. Just sleep.

There will be times when you are so angry – and sometimes it’s not even anger but just sheer monotony – and you think there’s NO WAY things can get better. You’ll think you can’t possibly spend another day with this person, let alone the rest of your life.

But, when you get through it you won’t believe how much stronger your relationship is. You will love your wife like never before and you won’t understand how you could have ever thought otherwise. Except for maybe when she tracks mud in across your just mopped floor. Or leaves the seat up in the middle of the night. But, let’s hope she won’t do that.

I know you realize this commitment is forever, so don’t ever say anything to her that you wouldn’t want said to you. Or, if she’s like me and holds a grudge for years, don’t say anything that she can throw in your face a decade from now. Women have good memories and we can use them for evil.

Kiss her every day. Tell her you love her. Rub her shoulders. Hold hands. Split the chores – and occasionally do hers as a surprise. That last bit of advice is really for your uncle. Hi honey! But, really. Housework is hot.

Oh, and one last thing; this marriage stuff is hard and you WILL screw it up. You both will. It is also the most beautiful, rewarding, comforting, secure partnership you will ever have, as long as you remember that you’re in this together. Forever.

You got this.

Love,

Aunt Diane

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Back at my first BlogHer conference in 2009, an afternoon of margaritas with friends turned into Melisa pulling a clown nose from her purse. and this happened.

photo courtesy of the lovely PiperofLove

Since then it’s become a tradition for me to don a clown nose each year. Though my face is a little chubbier, my wrinkles a lot deeper and my dark circles…well…darker, the clown nose is a consistent feature in my annual photos.

So I probably shouldn’t have been surprised when my son dressed up as a clown for Halloween and my daughter took his picture only to have her phone ask this question.

At next year’s conference, I’m wearing these pants.

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And so it begins. It’s time for NaBloPoMo!

Half of you are, “Say what? Why is she posting gibberish while on Ambien?” and the other half may recall my past attempts at National Blog Posting Month (or NaBloPoMo, for short) in 2011 and 2012, both of which I failed. I am nothing if not a quitter.

So here I go again. Imma do this thing for once.

Just don’t hold me to it.

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