The World According to EDW

This month has been interesting times. Chinese phrase or not - there's no proof of it, and it cannot be traced - the point still holds. Interesting is not always good.

A lot of stuff has come up for me this month, all of it tied to emotion, all of it I need to process. I was both hopeful and scared to post my birthday 2007/2008 pictures. I wanted to celebrate it, but I feared imagined repercussions and failure of myself to live up to it.

Earlier this month I had the mom thing going on, with my mothering being questioned by my harshest critic. I had the fear of the 5k, which was very real to me. I have some stuff going on with a friend of mine, which makes me really sad right now.

I was bouncing about the same 4lbs for three weeks, and the thing is, I have a support group of friends to help me just with that. But I feel like each of the three has more on their plate than me, so why call more attention to myself?

I miss my friends, the ones I keep missing in calls. I miss them. I wish I could call them up and report all that is happening, without disrupting their lives and mine. I wish I had the space to do that. I don't want to call up and start to spill like a tea kettle overboiling, but I wish I could and have that be okay.

I have not even had the time, this week, to have a proper conversation with my husband.

For every good thing, there is something I relinquish. I give up weight and have to face myself. I give up pretense and have to be real. I give up letting it go and have to deal with it.

I would not trade any of it, as challenging as it's been. I feel better about my parenting this month. If I made a difference to my friend yesterday, then I will take any hurt feelings just to have it be so. I would not have picked it this way, and except for that one fantastic 24 hours of my birthday, it's been Deal With Your Shit, Liz month. But better dealt with than not.

So if I seem scattered or frazzled, if I don't pick up the phone, if I talk too much of the feeling and not the substance, this is why. I want to delineate it all for you, every word and situation and feeling. And if you have the time and space for it, I will. With gusto and maybe a few tears.

In many ways, I ask for forgiveness while telling you that you don't have to. What you say and how you feel is okay; be annoyed with me for my distance or my words or my actions. It is safe with me. I love you without condition, and that you cannot change.



Thank you to Karen, for being brave and making it okay for me to be, too.

I just want you to see what I looked like a year ago on my birthday. I was turning 33, my daughter was 3, and we were in Disney World. This is not my heaviest.

Here's the no-makeup, early morning shot:




The family shots:






And this year.

The no-makeup, early morning shot, taken by my 4 year old:


The glam shot:



When I showed Courtney the picture of me last year on my birthday, she was like, "Oh, my God, Liz". So I put it up for you, too.

There's not a lot I'm going to write about the night. Instead, I've got pictures, which say more than I could. It was an amazing birthday, an amazing day. I woke up early, the house happy and in order. I dropped Em off at school and went to the gym for two hours. I got showered and had lunch with my friend Kim. Then we picked up the kids, went to the park, and waited for Courtney to call, saying she was in NJ. Then, Courtney arrived and promptly fell into my life like she had always been there.

And then we went out and it was awesome. Go check it out. Courtney, thank you so much for being part of it, my girlfriend. Check out her pictures, too.



And, I just have to say this: I've had some horrible birthdays. I've cried and called my girlfriends in tears, I've questioned my entire life in one night. I've gone for re-do nights out and bought my own presents. So when I planned this dinner (at a German beer garden) and drinks (at my beloved Dublin House) and invited all my friends and then they came and it all worked, it was the best gift ever. There is nothing like a good birthday, and this was a great birthday.

I am fairly thrilled to tell you that in two short days I will be 34. Yes, that's right, it's my birthday week, my birthday month, and my actual birthday on Friday.

A year ago today, I wrote this post about my resolutions, what I wanted from my year of being 33. I did those things. I went to Vancouver, I listened to myself more, I bought that duffel bag. I subscribed to Dwell magazine. I have a new, pretty copy of Pride and Prejudice. I do not feel guilty about spending money at both Whole Foods and McDonald's. I write and edit for a living now, no bones about it. I also lost 75lbs and completed a 5k. So, all in all, it's been a good year. Was I lucky? Sure. But did I make my own luck, chose my own happiness? Hell, yes.

When Nick asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I couldn't think of a thing. So I made a list of what I want: To be fit and healthy. To look good. To parent better. To have fun. Not shoes and purses, although they are part of that. There's plenty of money items in that list. For instance, to be fit, I could ask for a personal trainer. Or to look good, gift certificates to get my hair and nails done. Or money for clothes or shoes. To parent better, there are books to read. To have fun, there's trips and concerts and nights out. But really, it's more than that.

This year, I want to keep making the good choices, to bring me those four things. I want to choose fun, choose patience, choose confidence. I want to get up and go to the gym, take the time to make a good meal. I want to take a deep breathe every time I get frustrated. I want to let myself cry it out when I feel sad and not try to stuff the uncomfortable feelings. I want to keep the people who make me happy in my life.

This year, I want to be happy. I want to drop the subscription to Dwell magazine, because I never read it anyway. I want to find a new favorite book. I want to fall in love with another band, or in love again with my current love-on-the-rocks band. I want to visit Rob and Richelle for the second time. I want to run another 5K. I want to raise more money for breast cancer research. I want to support my friends in the changes they make in their lives. I want to be fit and healthy, a smoking hot mom. I want to buy clothes I adore. I want to parent with joy, and not beat myself up when I make the wrong choices. I want to appreciate the family I created for their quirky loveliness. I want to let go of the perfectionism and just be in the moment, however that moment turns out.

This year, I want to be more true to myself than ever before. I want to write the book of my life, and love whatever chapter I'm on.

Happy Birthday to me.

We did it.

Yesterday was the triathlon. We got there, in separate cars, at basically the same time. Up at 5am, the quick drive to the beach we go to all the time, and then the long line of cars from all over the area waiting to park. The sun was coming up as we moved from road to beach drive to parking lot, and it was so pretty to see.

Teri was the first to go, our swimmer, and she had a late wave, so we had time. We didn't have to rack a bike or set up, we just had to be there. As it turned out, we were maybe the last athletes to get to the transition area . "You're just getting here"? one not-so-sweet volunteer screeched. Why, yes we are. Better was the father who said to his daughters, "Move aside, girls, and let the athletes through." Whee! That's us!

Teri finished the swim in awesome time - 17:31. Jodi took over, and kicked ass biking. She did 11 miles in 33:10 and at 19.8 miles per hour. Total rock star. Then, it was my turn to run.

Me, freaked out





I grabbed the chip and headed out. The day was hot and humid; the humidity hit you like a wall. I ran and walked the 3.1 miles and thank God I was not the only one who did it this way. There were plenty of women walking and running, alternating because of the heat, exhaustion, or ability. I got a lot of comments on my sign in honor of my mom, a lot of, "You go, girl" and "Good for you for doing this for your mom" as they whizzed by me. On the back of that sign, I wrote the names of everyone who supported me. Chances are, your name was on there. I carried all my friends with me as I ran.



The last bit was the hardest. It was just so hot. But I turned up my Shuffle and listened to Melissa Etheridge and remembered why I did this. And then, I was there. Jodi and Teri were waving from the sidelines, they announced my number and Team Jersey Girls, and I hit the mat, where they counted my time. A kid gave me a finisher's medal and my friends gave me water. And it was over.



Honestly, and I know this is insane, I would do it again. I'd run harder and faster. I'd make better time. I'd raise more money. I'd do it with another group that had an easier donation system. But, yes, I'd do it again. It was terrifying and hard and intimidating and fun. And, for a beginner, I had good time. I did the 3.1 miles in 37:39, at a pace of 12:08. This is awesome when you consider I walked a lot of the course. So when I ran, I ran.

This is not something I could have done a year ago. I would not have been able to do this in any way, shape, or form a year ago. The thought of that is staggering and humbling and hopeful. I changed my life for the better, and I have hope that because of that I have helped to change the lives of women diagnosed with breast cancer. Even if it's just a little, it's something.

I'd like to thank the posters on The Grease Truck dot org for their support. I'd like to thank my friends on the DIS board. I'd like to thank all my blog readers. I'd like to thank all my girlfriends and their husbands and my guy friends, too. I'd like to thank my family, especially Nick. And last but not least, thank you Teri and Jodi for being with me the whole journey. I'm so glad we did this.

And yes, I am doing it again. Another race, another place, but until there's a cure, I'll be running.

The rest of the pictures are here.

This is the post you should read.

It's been a while since I wrote about being part of a relay team for the Danskin Triathlon. I have a training journal - the link's up top - but it's been over a month since I wrote on it, too. But the triathlon hasn't gone away, it's just been in the background of my life, much like my mom's cancer is. It's not always the focus, but it's there.

Tomorrow is the day.

You know my story - you know that my mom has battled breast cancer for 12 years, went through countless treatments and surgeries and chemo, even as recently as this spring. You cried with me when she got the latest news and celebrated when the doctor said the word "remission" - again. So you know why I agreed to do this, to complete the 5K even though I hadn't run since I was 12 years old, and running was scary and awful to me. Because that is nothing compared to what she has gone through. Nothing compared to what your friends and family have gone through, and I know this touches a number of you who read my blog.

So tomorrow is the day. Am I ready? Probably not. But I realized this week that I was looking at this triathlon all wrong. I kept thinking of the 5K as an ending point, but it's not. It's just the start for me. One day I will run, really run, an entire 5K, and I'll do it for money for breast cancer research, like I am now. Tomorrow is just the first 5K I attempt, and I'll run when I can and walk when I can't run and I will still be better off than I was when I started this. And, most importantly, I'll have raised money that makes a huge difference.

I didn't sign on to this to get fit, or lose weight, or hit a personal goal. I did it to raise money, and because Teri said, "we'll do it in honor of Liz's mom". And I made my goal. I raised money. And my mom's name will be on the back of my shirt when I run.

Thank you to everyone who has donated, and supported me in other ways. If you have not yet donated and would like, to here is the link to donate.

Tomorrow I will be at the race site bright and early, and hopefully be able to take pictures and write about the day. This is hugely emotional for me, more emotional than I thought it would be. I would say more, but I think you get it. I've got some pictures of today, and while you look at them, I'm going to rest and focus and get my stuff ready for tomorrow. So thank you again, and I'll see you tomorrow.

In October and November of 2001, the signs started to appear. "We Will Never Forget" proclaimed shop windows, sometimes with the date, sometimes not. I'd nod at owners putting them up, and they'd nod back, and sometimes, we'd have the conversation. I remember traveling to other places and seeing those signs and just wanting to hug those people who put them up, because they got it.

Today I will listen to the names, as I do every year. Today I will pray for our men and women overseas, especially my lovely friend Sean, who comments on this blog. I will pray for peace all over the world. I will tell Emily to pray for the kids around the world, because while Iraq and Afghanistan and Sudan and Georgia seem far away, kids are kids.

Today I will hope that people do not politicize this day, because it is not about politics. It's about remembrance.

Today I will thank God for the healing in my friends who suffered the most. They have survived and thrived. I am so proud of them.

Today I will live in the moment, to honor all the people who lost their lives.

So, for Peter Apollo, Patrick Murphy, and Johanna Sigmund. Rest in peace.

And with thanksgiving for Lisa, Russell, Andrew, Dom, and Bryan.

Amen.


My posts from 2006 and 2007.

But today I feel much better. So, some randomness.

Have you ever had food in your house that is just driving you crazy? I do, right now. Veggie Sticks, which are basically glorified potato chips, and those toasted garlic rounds you use for bruschetta. My choices are either 1. Eat every single one of them or 2. Throw them out. I did a compromise, eating a taste and chucking the rest. Yes, I know it's not even 11am. Now you know why I have weight problems.

And if you, personally, have never felt that way about food, congratulations. It must be nice.

I thought about starting the day with a Diet Coke, but that just reeks of desperate, whereas eating bruschetta for breakfast and then blogging about it is so normal and healthy and sane. It's amazing how our standards can shift, isn't it?

Yesterday, at Emily's first day of her new, Catholic, praying to Baby Jesus preschool, I met a woman I went to grade school with. She didn't recognize me, but she did remember me. We had a nice chat about how horrible that school was and how we blocked out all those memories, and then we went on to socialize with the other moms. As we were leaving she thanked me for doing the whole we-went-to-school-together bit. It was a nice moment.

I was also made classroom mom, which means I get to plan the parties and organize the teacher's gift and basically communicate with the other parents. I was paired with another mom, one whose child was in the 3yr old class last year. She is bright and perky and happy and did not think it weird that I wanted to make an Excel file of all the emails we collected from the assembled parents. But, it's clear she wants to do most of the work, and frankly, that's fine with me. I Googled her, of course, and she has a pretty cool job, which I had gathered from the little bit she told me in person.

Googling the new classmate's mom is something my friend Lisa would do, only she'd do it ten times better and know how much they paid for their house within an hour. But I wonder, do any of you do that sort of thing, too? Or do you just carry on, without the Internet sleuthing thing? I like to know who I'm with. There is nothing more deadly dull than discussing your children; I'd much rather hear the stories of your life, but barring that, we can talk about your work. Not that your kids aren't your life, but they aren't your whole life. I'm happy to hear about your 17 year old's girlfriend and why you don't like her - that's interesting, But if we have to talk about 4 yr old Tommy's cuteness, I'm not going to last long.

Well, enough of that. I have to go referee with, or should I say support, my friend K today. She has two kids at home (one more at school) and is watching two more for 7 hours. Yep, four kids under the age of five for 7 hours. I can't leave her alone in that, so instead of hiding out and eating all the food in my house, we're going with the misery loves company route.

Thanks for the company, dear readers.

The thing about feelings is they feel really important, and that's why you need to feel them. I didn't come up with that - my friends did. At one point today, Jodi told me just to breathe as I was crying, breathe and cry, and not talk. She was right. I needed to cry it out.

There's a lot of reasons for the crying jag, the sadness. This time of year, this day, this week 7 years ago. There's plenty to go around.

I just wanted to pop back in here today and say thanks to all of you who read this and responded to me like you did. You did so with compassion, and for that I am grateful. Thank you.

It wasn't all bad today. Emily started preschool, her first day at her new school. I was made classroom mom. I met some cool women who didn't seem like scary Stepford Moms and actually had real conversations with them.

One day I'm going to write more about the mom divide, why it's so freaking isolating, how I feel like it's a club you keep getting kicked out of, a sorority you pledged only to find out you didn't like any of the girls there. Simply put, "mom" is not a common denominator. I have had more in common with strangers across the country than with moms in my town.

But that's not for today. Today is thank you, and good night.

I was going to write a post about the rest of my weekend, which was good.

Then I had my day today.

You know it's not a good day when you burst into tears and cry hysterically and it's not even noon.

I'm, to put it simply, having a bad parent day. I see the flaws in my parenting at every turn, and none of my successes. It is so incredibly frustrating to work at something so hard and see nothing for it - it's the very opposite of everything we've ever been taught about work or learned from school or our parents or after-school specials.

Parenthood is very isolating; in fact, it might be the most isolating thing in my life. If you're reading this and you don't have kids, chances are you're just skimming. If you do have kids, you might be able to relate, but without specifics, maybe not. That's how isolating parenting is. It's so freaking isolating that if you don't have kids, you don't read about it, and if you do, you only read about what applies to you. It's the exact opposite of, say, music, or parties, or office work. Those are things that bring us together.

Nothing in the world has ever made me feel more alone than being a mother, and this day and this post is no exception. There's not some special club you get invited to, there's not accolades or acceptance because you have child. Instead, there's a shifting of your friends, a space between you and those without kids, a space that allows you as a new mom to be completely alone with a child you have little to no idea how to care for, with only the phone, the Internet, and some intensely scary books you'll never live up to and that is what you get to navigate the chasm between you and your new life.

It gets better, of course. And you find out other people feel the same way. But then you get stuck again, in the wide big space of ohmyfuckingGodhowamIgoingtodothis? And when you are in that wide big space, you feel alone in it. Again, it's the phone, the Internet, and some book you'll never live up, and maybe, if you are lucky, some friends. First though, you have to admit there's a problem and face the Judgment of Other People, and if you are like me, that judgment is nothing on a good day, and everything on day like today. It's so big you don't even pick up the phone.

So here's what I'm going to ask. If you made it through this post, do me a favor. Next time you see a parent at their wit's end, or parenting badly, or just maybe not doing so well, send them some strength and push away that rush to judgment. Just that once, don't judge them. Say a prayer, or send out a thought, or help them if you can in some small way. Because if you have ever sat, head in your hands at your keyboard, tears hitting the space bar, you will know that we judge ourselves more harshly than anyone else could ever judge us. And what the world needs now, is love, sweet, love.

So go on, call out the truly horrific parents who do horrific things, but remember that some of us work at it and still feel like we fail. And if you're like me, don't judge yourself too harshly, either.

This is the post in which I am very brave, and show you pictures of me without makeup on. Not as brave as the bikini shots, maybe, but still. I don't think I linked to those on my blog, so you had to be a flickr stalker to see them.

Now, if you know me IRL, this photo is not super shocking. My nose is always more tan than the rest of my face, and frankly, I usually don't try that hard to look pretty. I'm kind of lazy about the makeup thing, although I buy it like it's going out of style and love playing with it. I adore makeup - it's fun and girly and washes off, and as you will shortly see, transforms my face in short order.

The backstory is Jodi has a friend who is a Bobbi Brown makeup artist, and she came over on Friday night and made up all our faces and we got very drunk and told lots and lots of stories and laughed and ate Mike's subs and bought makeup. And drank Stoli Vanilla and Diet Coke. It was very, very fun. I had someone drive me home, so that's a clue to how much of a party it was. I don't know if it's the makeup on our faces, but all of us looking so pretty obviously means drinks. The makeup artist said it happens every time; women get a little lip gloss on and start downing the booze. Who knew? Frat boys, take note.

So here I am, no makeup:


And after makeup:


I'm a bit squinchy, and my hair is super flat, but it had been in a ponytail all day. I never think I look as harsh as I look in pictures - I'm not all pointy to myself.

Jodi, looking all pretty:


And Jodi and I, all done up, drinks firmly in hand:


Perhaps the most hilarious part was Greg, Jodi's husband, who went out for the subs and ended up drinking in the kitchen with us, surrounded by pots of concealer and more lip gloss than you could shake a stick at. He made himself useful by taking pictures and we made him drinks. Fair trade.

Of course, after a night like this, we all enjoyed a nice quiet Saturday, with Hanna sending rain and wind our way. We hunkered down at our house, Nick made dinner, and we watched a movie. We're hoping for the beach tomorrow!

If you're interested, the rest of the pictures are here.

Oh, it's been fun, the politics. I love this stuff. My dad has been sending me emails for months that are all totally insane. They used to annoy me, but now I've come to love them. They're funny. I can just ignore the ramblings and misinformation and fire back some actual news clips, like the one on Jill's blog.

I mentioned, right before I went on the cruise, that I reconnected with an old friend. My Dad always had taglines for my friends. For instance, he'd say, "Which one is Danielle?" and I'd go over some details until he seized upon the one I hadn't mentioned, but that worked for him. "Oh, her dad has a nice tractor!", he'd exclaim, and thus it was. Next time he'd ask me who Danielle was, I'd say, "Danielle is the one whose dad has a nice tractor", and he'd remember everything else about her.

I developed my own taglines for my friends, which came in handy as I grew older and brought more people into my circle, and one friend was required to remember another that they were wholly unconnected to. I try to construct taglines, too, so that I can remember which family friend of Stephanie's has the place in Galveston and which friend of Michelle's now works with her.

In the taglines of my life, Sean is the guy I should have gone to the prom with. I went with Tom, whom I was mistakenly in love with, the very one who told me I had fat thighs. He didn't dance, claiming his feet were tired from his prom the night before. I remember finding Sean, after his date was similarly annoying, and dancing. I'm sure I said that we should just ditch them, and in retrospect, that probably was the best idea. It might have led to my relationship breaking up, and saved me the two times Tom broke up with me and that humiliating incident when I begged him to take me back. But it wasn't to be.

Tom and I stayed together, and Sean went back to his date, and if I had to do it all over again. I'd go with Sean and have a good time and not remember being annoyed at this non-dancing loser. So that's my tagline for Sean. The guy I should have gone to the prom with.

Now, if I were telling you about him, I'd include a lot more things. Like how he is so creative he makes me look like a freaking engineer. And he always manages to be both funnier and more serious than I am, which is really pretty amazing, because usually people only do one or the other. And how he just goes with the flow with me, letting me bounce off one thing to another.

I am used to people allotting me a certain space. Like, you get an hour and a half of my time; two hours max, and then I'm gone. It might not be true, but I feel it sometimes. Like, I better talk quick, get it out fast, and move the hell on. The person I'm with has Other Things to do.

So I tend to love the people who make me feel the opposite, like they have all the time in the world for me. Even when dashing off, they make me feel like they'd stay if they could. Those are the people I stick with. Those are the ones I call and hang out with and say things like, "Let's be friends!"

I have found friends from my past before; found them again in adulthood, and met up or emailed or chatted. And it's not been bad, exactly. It's been nice, mostly. But neither has it been a full rekindling, or a new chapter. It's been an easy exchange, and that is perhaps the best outcome one can expect. What more can we ask from our past but to make peace with it, and sail forth into the future?

When I met up with Sean, it wasn't the 1.5 hours allotted to old friends: the initial, slightly awkward, conversation; the updates; the extraction. Instead, the person who showed up to meet me was my friend. Sean has always been a guy without bullshit. He's just who he is. He's not trying to sell me on anything, and although I love the bullshit artists, it's refreshing.

The conversation and day flowed so well, I found myself introducing him to Jodi and Greg, and shocked that he hadn't met Emily or Nick yet. But perhaps that's because it wasn't about who we were so much as who we are. Instead of finding an old friend, I found a new one.

Now that I'm home, I'm busy catching up on blogs and magazines and Diet Coke drinking. The Diet Coke on the ship was never right - can or fountain, it always tasted slightly off. Very disappointing. Equally disappointing was McCain's choice of a VP, because I used to like him. I thought he was smart. But his pick just made me scream at the TV. Maybe he thinks I'm stupid.

One of the most interesting things to emerge from McCain's pick is the response to Palin's daughter's pregnancy. James Dobson, a major conservative Christian figure and man who wields a lot of power and influence in that world, made a statement about the Christian journey, making mistakes, and praised the Palin's parenting. Now, do you think for one second if Hilary Clinton's 17 year old daughter was pregnant, her parenting would be praised? No, she would be eviscerated. I think that for once, the Christian right, and media response is correct - leave the pregnant 17 year old alone. A pregnant teen does not a bad parent make. But at the same time, it makes me really angry because I know that if Palin was not a pro-life Republican, her daughter would not be spared attacks, and Palin's entire life as a mother would be called into question.

What sparked this is an article in Entertainment Weekly about the remake of a classic movie, originally a play by Clare Boothe Luce, The Women. Luce, one of my favorite writers, didn't have too high an opinion of her own sex. She loads the play with stereotypes of her time, and makes the women in it catty and backstabbing, hardly worth the title acquaintance, let alone friend. So in spirit of telling the truth about women and their friendships, the original has been rewritten.

Now, I hate the word catfight as much as the next feminist. When men say, "oooh, catfight!" when learning of a disagreement between two females, I want to clock them. I usually just mutter "asshole" under my breath and leave it at that, though. There are a lot of negative stereotypes and portrayals of women that I reject outright. But not The Women.

If you don't know it, the play or original movie, you really should see it. The main character is cheated on by her husband, and horror of horrors, the young harpy tries to worm her way into the very life our heroine leads. A common story, yes, as I've known this to happen in real life. But the kicker is, the best friend of our heroine is backstabbing and deliciously gossipy - you'd hate her if she wasn't so entertaining. This is the part the new movie seeks to change; not highlight the competition between women, but the bond. However, by doing this, you miss the point. Sure, Sylvia is a backstabbing bitch, but Mary finds a friend she can trust - herself. Without the betrayal of her best bud, Mary would never learn that being true to herself is worth more than all the marriages in the world, and when she comes back together with her husband, it's on her terms. Now that's liberation.

The contrast between how women were portrayed in The Women and the double standard going on in politics today just hit me smack in the face. You're either the perfect mother, or the fucking bitch, and never the twain shall meet. We pick and nominate and crown as we see fit, never once rejecting the Madonna/whore complex even as we discard the poetry that describes it, the history that teaches it, and the religion that fostered it. If there's a box, there's a woman to fit it, or maybe it's that we quickly find a box for each woman we need to deal with. One of the gifts of the women's movement is that now all of us can rag on women, male and female alike.

Don't clean up The Women, and call it progress. Call it was it is, what it was, and deal with it. Don't coo "catfight" ever again. Don't have one set of standards for people that agree with you and one for for people that don't. Don't be an asshole. That's all I ask. And for the love of God, get some decent Diet Coke on cruise ships.

As I am fond of pointing out, I'm kind of a bitch. Listen, I wish it weren't true. I wish I was a nice person who gave people the benefit of the doubt, who didn't jump all over perceived slights, and who didn't have high expectations and generally grouse about shit better left alone.

But I'm not.

However, if you have a spark of personality, you generally like this about me. And if you don't, we're just not going to be friends. That's all there is to it, because while I am mellowing ever so slightly in my not-so-old age, I'm not going to wake up nice one day. Trust me.

But ohmyGod, this week, with the inlaws? Was perfect. I have nothing to complain about, and miles and miles of shit to gush about. It's a gush-fest. dear readers. A true gush-fest. And this from being on a boat for nine days with my husband, our child, his mom and dad, and his brother and sister-in-law. I can barely get along with anyone for dinner, and we did nine days of actual, real life, family happiness. Color me shocked.

It was an amazing vacation. We ate, we drank, we played. We walked around old San Juan, we swam with dolphins in Tortola, we had a private boat tour of two beaches in Samana, Dominican Republic, which was stunning. We played trivia, we hung by the pool, Emily went to the kids' program and didn't want to leave. I woke up every morning and went to a 7:30am stretch class and met my husband and daughter on the back of the ship and ate breakfast outside while looking at the ocean. I drank champagne every single day. I went to the spa. I read four books. I smiled a lot.

I am so thankful to my inlaws for taking us on this amazing trip, for their desire to spend this time with us and their generosity in footing the bill, including that champagne I was drinking, and the many, many bottles of excellent wine we consumed nightly at dinner. I love my inlaws, and I never thought they'd be a pain in the ass - I just assumed I would be. And I was, I am sure, but to their credit, they put up with it and we sailed on, one big happy family.

Maybe it's wrong to be stunned when planned family happiness turns out happy, but I am a realist. I know myself and I know other people, and there's nothing like the words "family vacation" to make most people develop an ulcer, a need for therapy, and a sudden interest in bird-watching or anything else that takes them outside and away.

But this time, it worked. It worked really, really well. I'd do it again in a second.

And now for the pictures. Yep, those are matching tshirts. People loved them. Yep, our cabin is HUGE. Good travel agent. Oh, yes, that's a karaoke book Nick and Emily are pouring over. Nick sang. Murdered the title song, not in a good way. Like spoken word Bruce. Egads. Yes, we did play a murder mystery game. Yes, that is me in a toga. Yes, we did balance crackers on our noses and stick labels on our heads. We're whimsical, what can I say? Yes, yes, we seem to have drinks in each picture. Vacation! Oh, yes, we did sail in and out of NYC. You must do it, if given the chance. Oh, hell. Just go look and laugh. That's what I'm here for.

Pictures.