Douglas has a valid point. Too much whining gets old, and it’s not at all productive. But this is what I said to him: “Frankly, I wish you would whine more. Because I like whine.”
You see, I have to wear my happy face almost everywhere I go. I have to say things like “Yep, I’m doing great. Isn’t it a beautiful day? My kids love school. Work is fantastic. The dogs just got shaved so our house is cleaner! I just had the runs for three days so I got to lose eight pounds. Life couldn’t be better.”
All right. Maybe I tone it down a notch. But you get the idea. Most of my waking hours I wear the camouflage, hoping to just blend in and be a faithful wife, a devoted mother, a responsible blogger, a pleasant recovering alcholic, a gracious ex-smoker, and a polite coffee drinker.

When I arrive at the pages of Beyond Blue, I let out a deep sigh. Because now I can be myself. I can say what I really feel—that for the last three days I haven’t been able to keep anything but a Triscuit and a Sprite down, and (even though the weather is beautiful!!) this stomach bug or whatever the hell Katherine brought home from her three-year-old boyfriend at preschool has me in a vulnerable spot, and I’m scared, like I always am when I’m sick. I want my mommy.
Remember Mr. Roger’s transition between work and play: when he hung up his blazer, took off his tie, got out the green cardigan sweater, and strapped on his tennis shoes? He wanted to be in comfortable clothes before he started the dialogue with us. That’s how I feel on Beyond Blue. My green cardigan is on, and I’m in my comfy place. Where I can whine if I feel like whining. And I usually do a little.
Because I have to be the happy and productive and efficient and capable Therese so much of my awake time. It’s nice to have a corner of cyberspace to just hang out. Where I don’t have to say I am SO THANKFUL for this virus that came my way … because without it I wouldn’t have connected with my inner child (the one who crapped her pants a lot). It’s all good. Everything’s good. Puke.