I missed posting yesterday, but I spent over 12 hours of my weekend doing volunteer work for three different committees and/or organizations. Unless you left food on your front porch to be picked up, needed food delivered, or are a special needs kid, I didn’t have time to get to you. Now you should count your blessings.

My husband and I got into an argument tonight. About stuffing. Then we went grocery shopping together, because nothing makes an argument better than going to a crowded store a few days before Thanksgiving and buying the stuffing ingredients over which you just fought.

We have relatives coming in town this weekend, which means I’ve been busy moving boxes and random junk from one room to our bedroom and wishing that I had time to repaint the house from top to bottom. Also, refinish some tables. And floors.

My daughter is a Science Lab assistant at her school and they had to bury a dead fish the other day. She and some other kids sang “Amazing Grace” over the grave.

We toured our daughter’s future high school yesterday. Gulp.

Then I ate so many tortilla chips that my lips felt like I went swimming in the Dead Sea.

I pulled my left glute muscle doing rear step lunges. The exercise looked like this, though I DON’T look like this. But, I did have a 30 lb. dumbbell, so clearly she needs to work out more.

From About.com Exercise

My rear step lunge looks impressive, doesn’t it? It wasn’t. It mostly involved me saying, “Ow!” and holding my left butt cheek a lot. You’re welcome.

A friend and I started a “world tour” of beers at a local bar. On Friday, we visited France, Belgium, and Brooklyn, then I headed to Mexico and she went to Canada. I hate to say that the worst of the lot came from Brooklyn, but I will. Because it did. What’s up with that, Brooklyn? You need to represent!

And now I’m pretty sure you would all like me to go back to volunteering.

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One of my favorite things in the world is seeing a UPS or FedEx truck in front of my house. I am usually let down when the driver jumps out of the truck and crosses my neighbor’s yard, but sometimes – just sometimes – the package is headed here.

Today was one of those days.

I was handed a large box from the delivery-man and headed straight to my kitchen counter where I tore the box open and found this.

In case you don’t know what this is (*waves at southern Californians*) it is a therapy light for people with Seasonal Affective Disorder. When you live in Ohio with its thick clouds and oh-so-gray-winter-days, you get depressed. It’s that simple. Out of the 101 cities in the United States with the lowest average sunlight, 19 of them are in Ohio; 14 Ohio towns are in the top 55.

Therapy lights produce intense light which is shown to improve mood and a host of other SAD symptoms. And, I have been wanting one for years. Just ask my Zoloft.

So, today I got one. Except I didn’t order it and there is no note, receipt or packing slip. Nothing. I have no idea who bought it.

Of course, I thought there was a chance that I took my Ambien and ordered it in the middle of the night, because I have been known to find plates next to my bed which clearly contained nachos and don’t remember eating a bit of them. I have also been known to hallucinate so I knew there was a distinct possibility that in a stupor, I suddenly felt the need to order this lamp. But, according to Amazon I haven’t placed any orders in the last 30 days.

The only thing I can think of is that someone is either SUPER KIND and wanted to remain anonymous or is sick of me complaining on Twitter and/or Facebook about not having a happy light and just wanted me to shut up.

In which case, I’m going to start grumbling about needing a million dollars.

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Last weekend my daughter’s volleyball team played for the league championship. I’m going to be completely honest here and tell you that we were pretty certain they were going to lose. That’s just the kind of parents we are.

Although they had improved a lot during the season, many of them had injuries this year and a lot of them had never played together before. It was quite a ragtag group who had just barely mastered the art of bump, set, spike. Our expectations were so low that my husband actually stayed home (at my request) so our son didn’t have to get up too early.

But, instead of a loss the parents witnessed a win. The championship win, like with a trophy and medals and stuff. Excuse the blurry, enlarged thumbnail photo of my kid, but I had half a team to cut out of this.

I can’t really describe what it was like to watch those girls give it everything they had, despite their reputation. My daughter dove, slid and even bled a little; when all she really had to do was show up, and her teammates did the same.

I don’t frequently learn valuable lessons from teenagers, but I did on Saturday. I can’t tell you how often I feel like I’m trudging along, not making progress, and losing. My weight, the bills, my son’s health and emotional issues, the bills, the bills, the bills, my insomnia, my dirty house, my writing…just everything.

What I realized from that ragtag team is that there is always a chance that I can come out of this on top; that if I dig in and fight hard, everything might turn out in my favor. It’s an uphill battle, but I can’t just give up.

There might just be a trophy waiting for me at the end.

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Here’s what I could tell you; that it’s sometimes exhausting to raise a special needs child. It’s also the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done and if you mess with my son, I will go all Mama Bear Advocate on you until you stop. I will also say bad things about you on Facebook.

I could tell you that my cousin is very sick. That she was pretty much fine and then was suddenly diagnosed with THREE DIFFERENT types of cancer and is in critical care. Get your papsmears, ladies. Make a note and schedule it as soon as you possibly can.

I could mention that I can never, ever get the laundry done all in one day like my husband can and that he constantly rubs it in my face. Or, I could talk about how I don’t understand why The Voice is on EVERY night.

Maybe I’ll mention how hard it is to be vegan with Twix bars in the house, that I could buy a new pair of shoes just about every day or that I wish I were a piano virtuoso.

I could say that I think guilt is an incomparable emotional experience and if you don’t have any, then you’re not someone I want as a friend. If you don’t feel guilty about something, then you don’t care enough. Or, I could say that my dog is the best snuggler in the world. For real.

Or I could just show you a picture of my 78 year old mother beating my daughter at arm wrestling.

I’m 41 years old and my mom still scares me.

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