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!”

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“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.

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Tomorrow is my husband’s 41st birthday, so I’m giving him the best gift I could think of; I’m going out of town.

I feel a lot of guilt about this. Tons of guilt. Like, there is an elephant named Guilt sitting on my chest. Too much?

I will be attending the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Workshop at the University of Dayton. There will be a lot of intelligent, hilarious women in attendance and I hear that, as far as humor writing workshops go, it’s the best. Not to mention that Erma Bombeck is my idol. *watches 20-something readers flee*

This workshop only comes around every other year and I spent two years waiting for them to release the 2012 dates. I couldn’t wait! And, when they did, I saw that the workshop fell smack-dab on my husband’s birthday. Dang the bad luck!

So, why am I talking about Erma Bombeck on my husband’s birthday? Because he is so unselfish, that he is giving me this gift. He does that a lot. For the last five years I have gone about living my dream, and before that I was able to stay home and raise our children; all while he plugs along at a thankless, commissioned, sales job in the mortgage business.

Yeah, meet my elephant.

This man has been faithful to our vows and has been true to me in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, and he’s one of the most generous guys I know.

Don’t get me wrong, my husband is a grumpy, cynic. He is stubborn and, oh my goodness, does he like to be right. But, guess what? I’m not perfect either. Please see aforementioned in sickness and in health thing. Plus, I’ve gained so much weight since we got married that it’s possible you could mistake me for my elephant.

He is frequently funny, sometimes romantic, and always supportive. Not many men would say, “Honey, I’m going to the office, you just stay home and blog.” Go ahead and tell me that isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. *swoon*

So, while I’m off gallivanting through Dayton (to the extent that one can gallivant through small, Ohio towns) my husband will be shuffling the kids to and from school, softball and church and eating the day-old cake I made him. I hope he has a great day despite my absence, or even because of it (read: tossing cake, eating cookies that our friend always makes him).

Happy birthday, Dado Fali! Thank you for making my dreams come true.

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If you recall, I had a little experience in Manhattan a few months ago with some prominent bloggers and the former Editor in Chief of Redbook Magazine, Stacy Morrison, wherein I made myself look like a bumpkin in a sushi restaurant. Stacy is now the Editor in Chief of BlogHer, which not only makes her my colleague, but also the colleague with whom I bonded over flaming nostrils.

Stacy sent me a package the other day and this is a video of my son sampling what I received. Before you go commenting and telling me that I’m an evil mother, you should know that I tested it first. I also believe in letting my kids try new things, because you never know if they’ll like it. Unless, of course, that new thing is bourbon.

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