You might think I’m being lazy. I’m not. But I am reposting one of my favorite reminder posts today. It’s about the party we shouldn’t have! Really. Hit the link to be reminded, if you’ve seen it before, or to see it for the first time.

Truth is, I haven’t been crying lately because of other people’s struggles. Maybe I haven’t been seeking out the stories that make me sob. Maybe I’m broken. Or maybe I wasted all my tears when watching a movie recently with a friend…who wrote about it here.

The rest of the post remains the same.

Love, me

I host a crawfish party every year with two other people. We, the hosts, all live in Utah now but grew up in states where crawfish were prevalent.

Susan & Paul & Donna

Donna, a dear friend, is from Mississippi. It comes in handy to know that little song (M-I-S-S-I-S-S-I-P-P-I) when you have to spell that state. Donna is kind enough to have the party in her amazing backyard each year. We spend our evening under a fully grown beautiful sycamore tree. We even have lights strung up on it. We even had a guest climb up the tree. He is an attorney so we were worried that he’d fall out and sue our asses.

Paul, the token man host, is from Louisiana. When hosting a large party with lots of manly tasks, it is always wise to include a man with brawn on the team. It doesn’t hurt that he played football at LSU all through college. He taps the keg. He carries the filled coolers. He moves around the propane tanks. He does all the cooking.

Then there is me. I grew up in Texas. That’s all. I’m useless. But I often take pictures with people who wear cowboy hats.

We cook crawfish, potatoes, corn, onions and garlic. (By “we” I mean Paul) After they are cooked, we dump them out on the table. And people dig in. And this year the crawfish (aka mudbugs & crawdads) were huge this year. We get them flown in live from Louisiana every year.

Well the party was a huge hit again this year. We are already taking notes for next year. If you want an invite…comment on this post.

You know what party is the worst party to attend? 

A pity party.

Why? Because you’re the only person who will show up, the only food available will be high in calories and it’ll make you fat and it’s inevitable that you’ll drink excessively and feel like ass the next day.

Sadly, they are the easiest parties to throw.  But that doesn’t mean you should attend them. They suck. That’s why it’s important to stop them.

Lately I have spent a lot of time crying. Bawling actually. These tears aren’t because I’m attending my own pity party. These tears are over the sadness others are facing. Some of these stories involve people I don’t even know. Yet I am so moved by their stories that my heart gets super heavy. I can’t help but to send positive thoughts their way.

The upside: It helps me to think of how truly lucky I am. I have my life, my health, a beautiful, healthy daughter, a home, a fabulous career, a smile, a wonderful family, many friends, a sense of humor, a car, food on my table (well, technically at Porcupine  - my local pub) and so many more things to be grateful for. After realizing what I have especially when others are faced with such tough times, attending a pity party sounds ridiculous.

The saying below is a reminder of what is important to me…