Can you buy yourself a cake for a blogoversary? Because today’s my 6th and I kind of want cake. Six years and almost 900 posts; that’s a whole lot of crazy, right there. We all deserve some cake for that. Pie, too.

When I started blogging I knew nothing. NUTH-ING, as evidenced by my first post, which was actually my third post because I kept accidentally deleting it. My lack of tech knowledge was an embarrassment to geeks everywhere. Now I speak at conferences about social media analytics and the geeks are all, “You are our people. Come, let us show you Star Trek things.”

When I started blogging my daughter was eight years old, now she’s getting ready to start high school. If your small child is in the room, stop reading immediately and give them a hug. Hurry up, because before you know it they’ll be asking for the car keys.

I’ve written about a lot of death. I don’t want to write about that any more.

This space has seen me through a concussion, the swine flu/pulmonary embolism scare of 2009, surgeries for me and my son (he’s had three to my one; he’s such an over-achiever), anxiety, insomnia, a change to a vegan diet brought on by high cholesterol, and a colonoscopy. If you have a health question, just let me know. I’m like Web M.D., but in my case the “D” stands for disaster.

I have made unbelievable friends because of this blog; far too many to mention, actually. You know who you are. *fist bump*

Thank you to the hundreds of thousands of you who have read this blog and to my husband and kids for never minding that my head is buried in a computer screen. Thank you to BlogHer for being the catalyst to a major life change and for giving me an annoying level of confidence. And, thank you to the companies who sponsor me in this space. Each and every one of you are rock stars. Yes, YOU!

Now, I shall eat cake.

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For the past 35 years I have told one joke. One. It’s the only joke I can remember and it still gets a laugh if you’ve never heard it. Are you ready?

How do you top a car?

I’ll give you a moment to think...

You tep on the brake, tupid.

*cue cymbal*

My sister told a couple of groaners the other day like, “Have you heard about the actress who stabbed herself with her knife? That woman…Reese…”

To which everyone replied, “…Reese Witherspoon?”

And she said, “No, with her knife.”

*cymbal crashes to the floor*

So, look. It was kind of a tough week around here and I don’t just mean because we tell awful jokes. We could use a good guffaw. I’ll take your best one-liner, best riddle…whatever you have, but keep it fairly clean because this blog is read by a priest, a rabbi, and a minister…who walked into a bar. I’m here all night, folks! Don’t forget to tip your wait staff!

But, seriously. And, I don’t mean Siriously. I asked her to tell me a joke and look what she said.

everyone’s a comedian!

Clearly, I need your help folks. Hit me with your best shot in the comment section!

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“Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal.”
– Albert Camus

Right now, we’re playing a giant game of pin the tail on the donkey, what with the being blindfolded, sent spinning, then pushed off into the unknown. If we could just get that tail on the donkey’s butt, everything would be fine! You thought you were playing a child’s party game, but it’s really a metaphor for my life.

These games used to be fun and exciting, but now they’re exhausting. I just did the egg-toss and have raw yolk all over me. I HAVE A BELLY FULL OF PUNCH AND CAKE. STOP SPINNING ME. TAKE THIS BLINDFOLD OFF. I want to see where I’m going and I want to stick this pin squarely where it belongs, then wash the egg off my shirt. I want normal!

But, see? There’s no such thing.

At least, not for us. Maybe for you and your family, but not mine. YOU try to get the tail on the donkey and I will, instead, focus on making sure that my kin don’t spin themselves into traffic, or pin themselves in the face, or fall off that cliff over there. You try to win the candy prize and I’ll try to keep my family from being admitted to the hospital. Deal?

And, sometimes I think it’s not fair; watching everyone scramble for bubble gum while I sit there, rubbing my face where I got whacked with the pinata stick. But, other times I sneak into my kids’ rooms at night and see them sleeping soundly, each holding a piece of rainbow-colored, papier mache. I hope they know that, although mom didn’t get the prize, she took a hard hit to the cheek in order to get us close to it.

Hopefully I will teach them that at the end of the day, life isn’t about the party favors, it’s about the clean-up and knowing that despite the mess, you will do it again. That sometimes you will have hopes of fun and normalcy that turn to shambles, but you pick up the trash and move on.

Please excuse me while I get my broom.

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On Wednesday, August 3, 2005, Columbus-based Lima Company Marine Unit lost 14 men to a roadside bomb just outside of Haditha, Iraq. I don’t remember if we got the news about the bombing on Wednesday or Thursday, but I know there was a period of time when we were anxiously awaiting word that our nephew, Erik, was not among the dead.

I don’t know how to describe the feelings of relief mixed with sadness when we heard Erik was alive. When he got back to Ohio that fall, I cried every time I saw him, because I knew many of his friends made a very different trip home. I was so grateful, that I was literally a sobbing mess every time he walked into a room.

I saved this newspaper and keep it in a drawer where I come across it often. Someday I’ll give it to Erik, if he wants it, though I’m sure he recalls that day without any physical reminders. I can’t imagine what he saw, what he still sees, or if he can even talk about it. I know that this paper, the one I held in my hands when the grief was raw, reminds me that it happened and we were very, very scared.

And, it reminds me to be thankful that Erik, his brother Mike, our nephew Alex, and our friend Jeremy have all come home alive in the last few years. I saw Erik and Mike on Saturday. We hugged, talked, laughed, played drinking games, poker, and a seriously competitive game of Taboo. I am incredibly proud to be their aunt even if they won’t let me win.

For all the families who are remembering their fallen this Memorial Day, thank you for sharing your sons and daughters with us. Their sacrifice, and yours, are not forgotten.

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