“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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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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If you’re a long-time reader, you may recall that I don’t make very pretty desserts. I may put my heart and soul into baking you a cake, but they look like they contain my blood, sweat, and tears.

Recently, we were asked to bring a patriotic dessert to a pot-luck so I turned to Pinterest for some inspiration. Part of my job is to pin items to the BlogHer Loves Holidays board and I knew there were some great ideas involving red, white and blue goodies. In particular, I wanted to make these rice cereal treats.

They didn’t turn out as pretty as the picture, but it’s me; this wasn’t a surprise. It wasn’t until we got to the pot-luck where I saw these adorably sprinkled cupcakes…

 …and this flag-waving dessert…

 …that I realized I had gone overboard on the dye and created the ugliest dish on the table. They weren’t even blue. They were green and very holiday-buffet looking. This is now my M.O. as I once created, what my friends refer to as, “Holiday S’mores” on a camping trip when I accidentally packed cinnamon graham crackers.

I used a 3-section foam plate as a tray, so as not to intimidate anyone.

At this most recent event, people were nudging me as I took these pictures to point out how bad the treats looked. In their defense, they didn’t know they were talking to the chef.

Next up: I put a Christmas spin on strawberry shortcake.

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