Last Tuesday morning, Brian came into our bedroom and sat by my side. I was in a deep sleep after a restless night, and he gently shook my arm to wake me. My eyes struggled to focus and find his gaze, but once they did, I knew. I just wasn't sure who. "Katy, your parents have been trying to call you. PawPaw passed away this morning." I immediately closed my eyes again and visualized his face. I pictured him smiling. He was always smiling.

Well, it's that time of year again. The time when the weather FINALLY drops into the 70's, and I get to sit in front of the fireplace and eat Chicken Tortilla Soup while I listen to Christmas music. "It's the moooooost wonderful tiiiiiiiiiiiiiime. Of the yeaaaaaaaaar!" I have zero patience. I want to go from Labor Day swimming pool closures to ice skating rinks. Except I hate to ice skate. So, scratch that. I want to go from shopping for bathing suits…never mind. Basically, I want to curl up on my sofa wearing my leg warmers while I eat a steaming bowl of Chicken Tortilla Soup and talk about my feelings over the faint sounds of Bing Crosby's White Christmas on constant loop. I'm basically every man's worst nightmare.

As Brian and I sat in our home office yesterday afternoon with our oldest whining about something (probably about the TV) and our little one running around like a screaming banshee, my poor husband attempted to tell me the same sentence a few times—only to lose his concentration (or mine) in the throes of chaos. He finally blurted out, "We need a date night!" And he was sooooo right.

In all the years I've been blogging and using social media, I've learned several ways to engage readers and get a conversation started: One is to talk about politics. I don't really do that any more. Because I very much dislike it when my blood reaches a boiling point. Another is to talk about faith. I do do that. Because I can't separate my faith from the rest of me. So, either I talk about it, or I can't talk at all. [Yes, please. I vote for the latter.] And another is to talk about food. Because I don't know a single person who doesn't love to talk about, look at, post a photo of, or gobble up some delicious food. And, yes, I include those who pretend like they've never posted a photo of a froufrou dessert on social media. It's okay to admit it. We've all done it. [No, I've never done that. It's stupid.]

I really would love to be one of those people who comes home from a trip, unpacks my suitcase(s) the moment I step foot in the door, throws a load of laundry in the washer before I've even taken off my shoes, and then creates a scrapbook or photo album entitled "Summer Family Photo Album" before the memories have faded. If you know me or have read this blog for more than a week, you know good and well that just isn't me. Not even close. But this past summer was one of the best summers of my life. Maybe the best. Despite the screaming and tantrums, the sleepless nights, the potty training failures, and my miserable attempts at motherhood, I can look back through my thousands of photos from our summer and know that I am blessed far beyond what I expected. And certainly beyond what I have earned. This has been a summer full of grace...in so many ways. Let's start here:

I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you guys this, but I have struggled with mild, chronic depression for as long as I can remember. [Well, crap. That came out of left field. Isn’t this supposed to be a humor blog?] I’ve had lots of different diagnoses—from cyclothymia (mild bipolar disorder) to depression to “that […]

If you've ever seen the film(s) Paranormal Activity, the following post will probably run through your mind as you try to fall back asleep tomorrow at 3 a.m., and you'll say, "I hate you, Katy in a Corner, for reminding me of this! And, oh great. Now I'm thinking about Katy standing in the corner of my room, and I'm even MORE freaked out!" And I'll just laugh and laugh because I "saw" Paranormal Activity on my parents' TV with ten fingers in front of my face, without my glasses on, and singing "LALALALALALA" at the top of my lungs. And the only thing I could tell you about that film is that the painting that hangs on my parents' wall close to their TV is really beautiful. Why? Because I'm not an idiot, that's why. I don't watch scary movies because I don't want to be reminded of them every time I have to use the facilities at 4 a.m.

Remember my Labor Day post about how Brian got pulled over in a speed trap for the billionth time this year? And remember how I said I would reenact that in a one-woman show about it? And remember how I vowed to never travel in the car with any of them again until one of them learns […]