Yes, I Have Been Killing My Super-Whatever, For Your Information

Oh by the way, forgot to mention that I declared myself on blogging sebatical about a month ago. It's little things like that that I seem to forget to mention, and I'm sure failing to announce my sebatical is a major blogging impropriety. In my absence, let's see, I have, like any good housewife, hosted some fabulous dinner parties, experienced a mid-life professional crisis and officially wrapped up my nervous, emotional breakdown.

I have heard it said that the true tests of character are rainy days, lost luggage and Christmas lights, and while there are enough rainy days that happen in my head without actual rain, my character seems to stand the test of anything my mind can deliver it. Lost luggage of course, is another blog story. Like any good housewife, I must at all times look as good as my tablescape, which is looking pretty darn good right now I might add. Yet how is anyone supposed to look even half-way decent without their sparkly blush, curl crème, blow dryer and rhinestone sandals lost somewhere over Cleveland? Isn’t a minor loss of character justified by the loss of such imperative things?

But things like Christmas lights, rogue printers and recipes that don’t make sense, I can handle those with a simple internal swear word and a scream of, “What the freaking heck?” complete with flailing jazz hands and my infamous forehead scowl and lip pursing. (See Save Your Marriage and Keep Wrinkles at Bay)

I manage to survive all those occurrences without jumping off a cliff into the lake, with my apron in tact ready to greet the next dinner guest. Yet the rest of my life has seemed to be dragging me down into a pit of nervous breakdown. In the midst of all the jury verdict writings, dinner guests, home school planning, neighborhood children coming and going through my front door, MOPS planning and whatever else perhaps flew into March and April that I can’t even seem to pull out of the archives of my life right now, I now realize that my mind had begun gasping for air.

But you know what nervous breakdowns are good for? They are good for killing your super-whatever. You know, your super-whatever.The super person who isn’t still in her yoga pants when guests arrive at the door for dinner. The super person who looks fantastic even after staying up until 2:00 in the morning to blog about stabbing her super whatever in the heart, 250 times to be exact, all while cooking the world’s most ambrosial beef and vegetable stew. I must be super if I can violently murder my super-housewife-self all while crockpot cooking.

I came to the conclusion that if I didn't kill my super-housewife-self, she was going to beat the crap out of me and drag me by the arm into a forest grave. It was either me or her. In the words of Rob Bell, in the Velvet Elvis, "[we] have this image picked up over the years of how [we] are supposed to look and act and work and play and talk, and it's like a voice that never stops shouting...

And the only way to not be killed by it is to shoot first...

You have to kill your superwhatever.

And you have to do it right now.

Because your superwhatever will rob you of today and tomorrow and the next day until you take it out back and end its life.

Go do it."

This blog will be here when you get back.