Joke for word nerds.

My dad sent me this one and I just have to share:

The past, the present, and the future walked into a bar.  It was tense.

(C’mon.  You know it’s  funny.)

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Christmas Letters.

Okay, since I haven’t fed my blog in awhile and feel the need to – and have no other creative fodder to offer – I’m posting our Christmas letter. Lame, I know, but I do play with the vehicle some and hopefully make it a little fun. For all of you who do and don’t celebrate Christmas out there, I hope you’re having a lovely season! Here goes:

December 2012

So… Christmas letters can be tricky, I think, and I always hesitate to write one. This in spite of the fact that I enjoy getting news this way, especially from folks I don’t get to see much anymore, whom I love, nonetheless, and want to hear from. If you’re getting our card, this means you! It’s those few we get (from people not receiving this missive, lest I offend), ones that don’t really tell me anything, that, well, put me off of the whole idea… you know, the ones that feel like an application to the Bland & Personality-Free Society?

Well, none of that here! I’m being up front about my family’s blandness and aspirations to mediocrity, and, gosh darn it, I’m sending a Christmas letter that will make me feel like we’ve started a conversation, even if it is uninspiring! I acknowledge right now that I have nothing interesting to report, in case you want to set this letter aside; it might be wise. Too, you can take heart from the fact that this is the second Christmas letter I’ve ever sent out, and I make no promises about doing it ever again. So, quit complaining, already.

Things are pretty good. Mike is building his handyman services company, doing a rock star job as he’s keeping us stocked in groceries, our bills are paid, and he indulges me in all my non-revenue-producing pursuits, which are legion. Jack is heavy into what I call ‘child product development,’ which means 2-4 nights per week of some sporting activity, catechism on Wednesdays, and piano on Fridays. Plus homework. It’s exhausting, and I thank God each and every day that I only have one kid, because I flat out promise you I have all I can say grace over with just him.

My own professional focus, which began as a hobby-like pastime in 2009, has become a full-blown mental illness. Truly. Look for a new entry in the next edition of the DSM, titled, “Errin’s Quest for Publishing Disease,” a sub-category of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Functionally, it means I’ve spent thousands of hours querying agents (don’t even ask); and, unable to take the hint from the hundreds of rejections I’ve received, am writing a third novel, yea though there’ve been no takers for my first two. You have never, never in your life met anyone as serious about mermaid stories as I am, but I’m hell-bound to write them.

If you are dead bored someday and feel like reading random essays on writing and motherhood, you can check out my blog at errinstevens.com. Maybe start with “Only Crazy People Do This,” or “Little Jack.” Or, since it’s Christmas, take a peek at “Long Lost Love.” I’m sorry to talk about this so much, but I can’t help it. And, if you don’t like my writing, for God’s sake keep it to yourself.

More seriously, I wish we had spent more time with you this past year. Please know you are thought of often, and that, with this letter, my family sends you and yours our most sincere good wishes for health and prosperity in 2013. We hope you have a beautiful Christmas.