dirt don't hurt

I’m not going to lie.  I get really crabby in the winter.  My family quietly urges me to seek sunlight, drink joyous teas, meditate, sing, eat, dance, and everything else possible so I don’t morph into the grouchiest grouch who ever got out of bed.  On the wrong side.  Everyday.   Seasonal Affective Disorder, or SAD as it is so appropriately called, is the real deal.  And I’m not self-diagnosing, but the winter blues is not something that we made up because we were crabby and couldn’t go outside and play.  It’s caused by a decrease in sunlight, drop in chemical levels in the body, and, although not technically documented, also by being trapped in your house with your children asking you to play Candyland and feed them snacks for hours on end until they request to watch TV and then use every single sheet and blanket you have to build a fort which covers two-thirds of your living space and you have to just about crawl through a window to get to your bathroom and they never, ever clea

Of all of the misused and overused words in the world, one of the biggest culprits is the word that is on everyone’s mind this time of the year.  Love. Think of how many times a day we use it, and what we use it for.  I know how many times I day I tell my children or my husband that I love them, but I also say things like, “I love Chinese food!” and “I love it when I do a few loads of laundry and don’t have any mismatched socks!”  I talk to my mom nearly every day on the phone and end it with “love you.”  I end every email with my husband “love, Karrie.”  I sometimes tell my children that I love them so much, I could squeeze them until their heads pop off. We love songs and television shows.  We love movie stars and seasons of the year, restaurants, cars, and fashion.   Toby Keith sang about how much he loves a bar, and Ray Charles sang that he can’t stop loving you, and the Beatles are well known for preaching that, above all else, all you need is love. It all seems like a lot