I had this great big post planned because I have been gone so long (I’m pretty sure my advertisers think my colonoscopy killed me). I typed it out at the airport in New York yesterday and thought it sounded awesome, but when I looked at it again today, it was just a giant rambling mess.

There is too much, just TOO MUCH, to say and when I try to put it all together it looks like verbal vomit on my computer screen. So, instead, I will share the very few pictures I took, and a few that I stole from my friends without asking. Without further ado, here is my last week in pictures.

I visited the 9/11 Memorial. It’s beautiful and well-designed. I ran my fingers over random names and had goosebumps the entire time.

I hung out with friends.

photo courtesy of Dresden from creatingmotherhood.com. Food courtesy of Ree from The Pioneer Woman.

photo courtesy of Angie from awholelotofnothing.net

In some photos, I appeared more greasy than others. NYC in August, holla!

photo courtesy of melisa of suburbanscrawl.com. photobomb courtesy of Jenn from mommyneedscoffee.com

And, for geeks like me, the fun and games continued in the panel rooms where I spoke at a day-long workshop on how blogging can change your life and then at a session on how to leverage Twitter and Facebook. The Twitter and Facebook panel was standing-room only and was a highlight of my short, but amazing, social media career thus far. I took a picture from the front of the room before we got started.

And, my friend Angie, snapped this picture from the audience.

That’s me on the right. This was insane fun for me. Geeks, unite!

I fulfilled my AV dreams. This is where I sat during keynotes by Martha Stewart and Katie Couric as I fed questions to the interviewers. It’s a long way from the cable access show that I worked on in high school.

Yes, I just wrote about how awesome it was to sit with the tech crew. At least I own my level of geekdom.

An impromptu dinner with the hilarious Jessica Bernturned into a quick tour of the Upper West Side and I got to see The Dakota and Lincoln Center and eat a vegan burrito in a hole-in-the-wall, which made it all the more delicious.

The gate John Lennon walked through just before he was shot.

I went to mass at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, I walked along the plaza outside of 30 Rock, strolled past the entrance of the Museum of Modern Art, and I bought an I <3 NY shirt from a street vendor. I peered into Gray’s Papaya and Carnegie Deli, but couldn’t resist the food at the Famous Halal Guys’ cart on the corner of 6th Avenue and 53rd Street.

The best falafel. Period.

I did SO much, but I didn’t scratch the surface of what NYC has to offer; yet my heart and mind are full.

And, more than anything, my feet hurt really, really bad.

I flew to Seattle yesterday morning for the BlogHer Food Conference. I started to write this post at the airport before I left Ohio, but because I hate to fly and I was going to talk about flying, I thought it would end up being one of those prophetic posts. You know, after the crash and all.

First of all I hate to fly, as evidenced by the time I took a Xanax and had two vodka cranberries. That flight? I liked. We hit turbulence and I may as well have had a cowboy hat and a lasso. Yee haw!

But, for the times I don’t have medication and I’m on the way to another city to actually work, I have to tough it out and because nothing takes my mind off of the world around me quite like being online, I ordered myself an upgrade to an exit row seat so I could work on the web from 25,000 feet. This is what I was going to tell you about when I started to write in Ohio; that I am a genius for thinking far enough ahead to get that seat.

What I didn’t consider is that exit rows give you more leg room, but you don’t get any more arm room. Lest you forget, I once held the prestigious nickname of “orangutan arms.”

I don’t know if you know this, but exit row seats have tray tables that come out of the arm of the seat. Some people might consider that before paying extra.

Said tray table is exactly 5 inches deep and sits, roughly, in the vicinity of your belly button. This is not an ideal position for typing. Sure, you could put your laptop directly on your lap, but when the plane is the temperature of roasting AND you are peri-menopausal, a hot computer on your thighs isn’t the better option. Trust me.

However, there was an upside, with the laptop sitting on the zipper of my jeans and with me being lucky enough to score the middle seat, I found that upgrading finally rid me of that “Orangutan Arms” moniker.

All it took was a swipe of my credit card and now you may call me, “T-Rex.”

A few days ago, we pulled the kids out of school, piled into a car with some friends and drove to an amusement park where we spent the day going in loops and curves, laughing, and preparing ourselves for the oh-so-wonderful-post-amusement-park-shampoo-and-shower.

We had so much fun, minus the few minutes I spent on the swings with my son, where I had my eyes tightly shut and spent the entire time trying to distract myself by counting. Not to any particular number, mind you, but just counting because OHMYGOODNESS the spinning.

Of course, roller coasters and swings aren’t the only attractions. If you are an amusement park aficionado, you know that the rides are great, but equally enjoyable is the people-watching. For instance, the woman who won our prize for “Best Outfit” was wearing very tiny, cut-off shorts and a hoodie that stopped just under her breasts; her belly free to hang out from in between.

Because my ten year old son often says whatever is on his mind, we have been attempting to show him how to filter his words. I have gone so far as to draw a brain and write words that are allowed to be in there, but that shouldn’t come out of his mouth.

And, apparently, the adults in our group weren’t the only ones who were people-watching at the amusement park, because when we pulled into our driveway at the end of the day, my son said, “Mom, I did a REALLY good job of keeping my thoughts inside my head today!”

“If you can’t make it better, you can laugh at it.” -Erma Bombeck

When I tell people what I do for a living, it is inevitable that they will ask, “What do you write about?”

My usual reply is, “I write a humor blog. A lot of the posts are about my son who has sub-threshold autism, congenital heart disease, moderate hearing loss, a missing tear duct, and he often chokes and vomits.” Then I’ll follow with, “Isn’t that hilarious?! Just wait until I tell you about all of his surgeries!”

One of the best things about attending the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop this weekend was that no one looked at me like I had two heads when I gave them that answer. They understood that it’s okay to laugh at bad situations.

Sure, humor can come from light, but quite frequently it comes from someplace dark. It is how many a comedian or author has coped with tragedy and pain. It’s how I cope with mine. That, and peanut butter, but that’s another story.

Let me ask you a few questions: Are you going through a tough time? Are you laughing anyway? Why the heck not?

At the closing keynote of the Erma workshop, humorist, Gina Barreca, talked about motivational quotes; specifically, the one that says, “Bloom where you’re planted.” She urged us NOT to follow that advice.

Instead of being forced into the ground where someone else has decided to plant you, she told us to pick up and plant ourselves where WE choose. I agree. If you want to grow, move to an open, sunlit area free of all of the suffocating dirt. And, worms. Unless you like worms, in which case you should move yourself to a compost pile.

For me, laughter is the sun. It is where I go when I need to pull myself away from the weeds and it is what has saved me from going mad because of all the curve-balls life has thrown my way. Don’t worry, I won’t go from gardening metaphors to baseball metaphors. Well, other than that curve-ball thing. And, to be honest, it’s kind of killing me not to say something about line-drives.

My point is that it’s good to laugh. It’s good for for the heart, the soul, the mind and for laundry detergent manufacturers. Don’t tell me you’ve never peed your pants while laughing. No, really. Don’t tell me. *pauses writing to concentrate on kegels*

Listen to Erma, Gina and me (please excuse my lack of modesty while I insert myself into a sentence with those two legends), especially when I tell you that you owe me money. Or, when I tell you to laugh.

Because if you can laugh in the face of adversity your plant will flower through every season.

And that, my friends, feels a lot like hitting one out of the park.