Sometimes when you have so much to say, you find it difficult to say anything at all. That’s where I find myself right now.

I can’t comment on the events in Boston. I still can’t even talk about Sandy Hook. I’m tense every time I let my daughter go to the movies, or drop my kids off at school, or get on an airplane, or now…stand on the sideline of a foot race. These events make a person with anxiety want to stock up on plastic, duct tape, and canned goods and never leave their house again.

I can’t talk about my son right now either; at least not without crying. As if he hasn’t had enough challenges with his body, now we are dealing with challenges of the mind. He gets his OCD and anxiety from me, but he gets his defiance from his dad. Hi, honey! The difference is that my husband is only defiant with me and my son is defiant with authority.

Right now we are lost, floundering in waiting lists, county funding, new doctors, and a teaching staff who has completely lost their patience. I’m sad. I’m angry and hurt by the entire situation. And, I’ve been let down on so many levels and honestly, I don’t feel that I can bear that any more. I wish I could go back in time and put my advocating and fundraising to use elsewhere. Though, let’s be honest, if I had a time-machine I would first go to 1988 and get my skinny body back.

Tonight, I sat here sobbing for the sixth hour straight, with a throbbing headache, wondering why God has chosen this path for me. This week has been heartbreaking.

And that’s when, on cue, the toilet upstairs started overflowing and leaked right through the kitchen ceiling. Because nothing quite says, “Up yours! This week isn’t over yet!” like john water in your fruit basket.

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Me, lying in bed after looking at the clock: Ahhh, I have one more hour of glorious sleep. Thank goodness!

Dog: Vomits.

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Daughter: “Mom, they only give scholarship recommendations to four students.”

Me: “So, did you ask for one?”

Daughter: “Yeah, I was the fifth.”

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Me to daughter: “You really should continue with drama in high school. It’s a good extra-cirricular activity. Sit down with me and watch the Oscars.”

Seth MacFarlane: “We saw your boobs!”

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Principal, while lecturing my son on his behavior as she taps her skull with her index finger: “This is what you need to do before you act out. What am I doing right now?”

Son: “Poking yourself in the head.”

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At the Academy Awards on Sunday night, Ben Affleck was accepting the Best Picture Oscar for Argo when he looked over to his wife, Jennifer Garner, and said, “I want to thank my wife…I want to thank you for working on marriage for ten Christmases. It’s good, it is work, but it’s the best kind of work, and there’s no one I’d rather work with.”

Ben got a lot of grief for making this statement. I saw it for myself all over the Internet. It was awkward. It wasn’t the right place or time. Their marriage is in trouble! They are getting a divorce!

I, on the other hand, thought it was awesome and want to be among the first to thank him for his remark.

In my opinion it was the perfect venue for him to say such a thing. Hollywood is one big fairy-tale, complete with beautiful people and princess dresses, and millions of people were watching. I commend Ben for taking the opportunity to say that even with loads of money, good looks and an Oscar in his hand, that marriage is work. If it’s a struggle for them, what about those of us with financial problems, average appearance and no awards of which to speak?

If men and women didn’t enter into marriage with a white-picket fantasy and instead looked at it like it’s a job, maybe family dynamics wouldn’t get thrown out of whack because of the way the dishes are loaded in the dishwasher. Have you ever given a co-worker the silent treatment because they didn’t hang up their coat? No. So why would you act like that with your spouse?

Work can be fulfilling. There are a heck of a lot of people who LOVE their jobs, but they don’t just come in and sit at their desk and expect the work to be fulfilling. They put effort into it. They are passionate about it. They give and they get back.

I love my husband and I’m forever committed to our marriage, but it isn’t always easy. We both know it’s work and when everything falls into place as it can with any good project, it’s the most amazing partnership I’ve ever had. I don’t dread this job; I live for it.

It’s good, it is work, but it’s the best kind of work, and there’s no one I’d rather work with.

Thank you, Ben, for keeping it real.

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Sometimes, when we are just sitting around, my mom will burst into tears and tell me what a good father my kids have. I nod. “I know, Mom. I know.” And, I do.

I think part of the reason she cries is because she had a good relationship with her father and she misses him. He’s been gone since I was a child, but she still talks about him a lot. I think there is also something to be said for the fact that my mom is 78 years old and has known a lot of people who didn’t have close relationships with their dads. My grandparent’s generation wasn’t exactly known for wearing their emotions on their sleeves.

Actually, some members of my generation aren’t known for it either. There is no denying that my husband is a curmudgeon (seriously, he won’t even deny it), but he loves his kids, does all kinds of activities with them that I probably never would, instills in them a sense of responsibility, shares his faith and his dreams with them, and even though he is one of the biggest sports fans I’ve ever known, he doesn’t blink an eye at the fact that our special needs son will never be a star athlete.

Of course, my husband gets all of his parenting skills naturally because he has a great dad. As do I. Our fathers are both funny, kind, generous and loving.

Way back in 1997 I spent an amazing August afternoon dancing with all of these men. I happened to be wearing a wedding dress and at one point or another was twirled around the dance floor by my brand-new husband, my dad, and my father-in-law.

The other night my daughter’s dance club threw an event for the parents. It was held in the same hall where my husband and I had our wedding reception, and when my groom and our daughter took to the dance floor – the same dance floor where I had danced with my dad – I was the one doing the crying.

I have been so lucky to have these dads in my life and I wish the same thing for my girl.

So far, so good.

Speaking of dads, I’ll be on a panel at the Dad 2.0 Summit in Houston this weekend where some of the best parents in social media will be gathering to declare, “Parenting isn’t just for moms, and neither is blogging!” I just made that quote up, but I’m pretty sure they’ll want to to put it on a bumper sticker.

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