Bits and pieces

Taco and other words

I decided the other day that I’m tired of “not feeling funny.”

Did you know funny could be a feeling? This therapist/mom/writer/comedian says why not?

Let me explain.

I ended up in Jersey Mikes in line next to a family friend and his son.

First, we talked about how it’s been so long. Do you also have that conversation 12 times a day with people? For those of us who once used to connect with people on a daily basis but now have kids who take up 23 out of 24 hours in the day, it really has been

so long.

After getting that out of the way, we talked about how our beloved dogs both departed recently (I can’t even say the real word, insert grief here) and we are sad about it. I very much appreciated how they told me they had many family members and friends come over to see their sweet pup before he passed. I told them Moose passed suddenly, a grace to not have to see him suffer, but also, I would have done anything to help Moose, and I wasn’t there.

Then, after acknowledging the pain of losing our dogs, we talked about funny things. I mentioned the beginning of a joke that happened in real life recently, when a chiropractor, a pain management guy, and a therapist walked into a Thai restaurant…

Three tables/ the whole restaurant (it was a small restaurant…) Strangers who all started talking. What a dream.

Sorry to the introverts who would consider this a true nightmare. I see you husband, and think you’re great and a perfect balance to your talkative wife.

The key to being able to joke during this interaction at Jersey Mikes was that the people acknowledged Moosey first and then I was free to be funny. I don’t make the rules.

Okay, so every person doesn’t have to reference Moose (but shouldn’t they?).

I realize that we as humans do not often know when another human has a pain. There’s so many pains that are not obvious. Grief is one of them. Grief is typically unfunny, even if we cope by laughing sometimes.

My grief the last few months has been mixed with sleep deprivation, due to some complex health stuff with Sammy. There’s not a lot that’s funny when you’re sleep deprived. I find that everything feels harder when life is so serious that I’m not laughing at myself.

You see, I don’t necessarily need you to find me funny, but I need to laugh at myself and my own silly stories. I can’t explain it, I just do.

So here I am, finally allowing myself to feel funny.

More than anything, I think my healing often comes in bits and pieces. True peace for me comes when I allow the silly to blend with the serious, the bits and pieces all jumbled together like a yummy sandwich.

I still feel Moose with me, feel him in the stories I let myself tell, in the craziest parts of life, because Moose was and will always be my Mexican street dog who came to this country on an ice cream truck. His story is wilder than anything that happens to me, hands down.

I feel happy that for this moment, I can zoom out enough to poke fun at things like Sammy turning two and us having absolutely no energy left in this year for a smash of a party like last year. His first birthday was all “he’s still alive!” His second birthday was “we’re still alive!”

Truly, some years it’s a miracle we’re all still kicking it and I am so so so thankful.

*This is TWO. Also, Moosey always in the background watching us…

I am suddenly (or slowly?) back to being silly when I meet strangers, which is a sign of health for me. Today at the park/splash pad I saw a mom who really knew how to do it right and I told her. Everyone else was chasing their kids, sitting on ledges to watch them, or carting them around in a stroller (me) after they got too hot or tired. This mom brought a huge lawn chair and had her own perfect sub sandwich on one of those portable tables. She didn’t even have to bend down to reach the sandwich. I stopped to compliment the whole ensemble. She appreciated being seen, I think.

Let it be known that I love splash pads more than most kids. After the fun there, my husband and I had a few free moments thanks for my parents (I love you more than you know mom and dad). We went to a food truck court. Unexpectedly, a co-worker was playing there with her band. Such a small town thing to be doing on Memorial Day.

Side-note for curious readers: I have been working very very part-time after my 18+ month maternity leave (highly recommend) with all we went through with Sammy and his hospitalizations etc. I truly do not recommend as many hospital stays as we’ve had but if you’re going to do it, I recommend having a kid like Sammy who is resilient and wonderful.

It was a nice day and helped calm my spirit to feel 16 again with the band’s 90’s/2000’s pop punk rock jams. I felt proud to remember most lyrics. It made my 40-year-old self consider that maybe there’s a lot of life in me yet. Oh, and a new friend at the splash pad said I looked extremely young. No more than 34, she said. The baby face wins!

Note to self: food stands are amazing. Bbq and mahi tacos in the same lunch, yes please.

Tacos are one of my many love languages.

Tacos can brighten up any bad day. Try it.

For the record, my husband wanted me to help him come up with an emergency word for our new dog Bubs to help with his training. I immediately offered the word taco. He responded by telling me that I talk about tacos way too much for that to be a safe emergency word to be used in emergencies.

What word do you use too much, friends? If it’s tacos, I think we could get along and do you want to listen to some Green Day cover songs with me while getting sunburned?

I hope you’ve enjoyed some of my bits and pieces. I’m going to continue some essays and fun here, some of them bits, some of them pieces. Hope you’ll stick around for the ride!

At the risk of sounding like the secret 16-year-old singer of pop rock songs that I am at heart, you can “like” my writing and perhaps the silly algorithm will find its way to more inboxes! Of course, if you want to be a super sponsor to this round of hopeful comedy as I try and come back to life, I will never turn down more subscribers or paid subscribers. I think all of you should get paid for what you love, too. I just happen to love something that does.not.actually.pay.the.bills. Totally makes sense given my personality. I’ll always keep writing, though. Every little bit counts!

Cheers to summer starting today, for as I told my daughter upon the first sun burn of the season: “Summer is here!” She keeps repeating it.

There are far worse things to repeat. Whatever you do, don’t talk about tacos around Bubs the dog.