What does it say about me that almost immediately after I offered a young sickly child in the back seat of my car an empty cup to vomit into all I could think of was Garth saying, “If you’re gonna spew, spew into this.” I mean, other than I need to watch movies made after 1992.
In related news, I never want to see red colored Powerade again in my life. Especially now that I’ve seen it on the way back up.
Dear Bubba,
I’m becoming more and more aware that your little kidhood is rapidly coming to a close. The early morning snuggles are less frequent, you don’t automatically reach for my hand when we go for a walk, and you will totally ditch my ass to hang out with your friends. I had deluded myself into thinking I had until at least 10 before that stuff kicked in, but you’re an overachiever I suppose.
But then it occurs to me: you don’t want to laze around in bed because you wake up ready to greet the day and don’t want to miss a thing. It’s hard to hold someone’s hand when you are trying to branch out and explore. You make friends and connect with others so easily and that is a gift, kid.
And how can I be sad about that? OK, I get a little sad about it. But it would also be really weird and Buster Bluth-y if you were 22 and clinging to me. We would rock some sick Motherboy costumes though.
You are easily one of the funniest people I’ve met and I love watching you make up silly games to make people laugh. The simple joy of a good joke that involves the word “balls” isn’t lost on you; that should probably go on the DeFazio family crest. You’re honest to the point of being blunt (What do you mean my little black dress was “boring?” Who the hell died and made you Joan Rivers?) but have an incredible capacity for kindness when you sense someone needs that. Basically: qualities I appreciate in a friend. I’m so lucky you’re my family.
You have completed our family in ways we couldn’t have imagined 8 years and 1 day ago. I love you so very much and wish you a wonderful year!
Happy Birthday, Buddy.
Love always,
Sissy
The power suddenly goes out in the house. I deal with this by:
Happy New Year, Interweb! And let me add to the chorus of “Wow, 2013 SUCKED, let’s DO THIS 2014!” because oh holy hell this year was rough and I am ready for a fresh start. 2013 started with a lot of promise mixed with uncertainty, the middle part was definitely marked by a lot of heartache and – by the Fall – heartbreak. By December we had answers and clarity but that doesn’t always mean good things, does it? I am absolutely determined to hold on to the lessons that 2013 taught me without letting the hurt weigh me down, set small goals to achieve the big ones, and have some fun for fuck’s sake because if there was one thing 2013 lacked it was levity in the midst of all the crazy.
A couple of my favorite writers have done this little year-end survey and I thought it might be a good way to summarize and close the door on 2013, but realized that my answers were mostly complete bummers and who the hell wants to read that? Obviously it wasn’t 365 days of shit: we went to New York and Vegas, saw dear friends get married, choked back tears as one of our nieces graduated from high school, and saw our respective parents through some scary health situations and were able to celebrate the holidays with them. But for the most part when I look back it’s with a sense of dread of the near-constant up-and-down emotional roller coaster that was last year. (Jesus, did I just write “emotional roller coaster?” Apparently I’m just quoting my journals from high school or some shit now.)
So here’s to a new year, a new outlook, and hopefully more writing that doesn’t include ridiculous cliches.
Is This Thing On? 