2016 was rough. We lost heroes and icons and royalty from a galaxy far, far away. Clowns jumped out of woods. Brangelina broke up. And I don't know whether we'll ever survive the trauma of YOLO's making it into The Oxford English Dictionary. But those of us afflicted by the above got out easy.

Many of you gorgeous readers know that this year has been trying for our little family. You've read about sickness and struggles and snakes. So many snakes. But I refuse to go into 2017 fixating on the fractures. If all I retain from my 2016 vision board is a collage of calamity, 2017 will be no better. To do so would be unfair anyway. For me, this year has certainly not been without joy.

So, as a salute, allow me to share some sweet and silly from 2016 — some of which I briefly shared but most of which I was too humble or insecure or superstitious to share, too afraid those mischievous elves hiding in the neverlands all around us would read my words and wreak havoc on the bits of wonderful. (Trolls linger on the internet, but I've been told elves are exclusively print readers.)

A few fond memories I will cling to as we enter the new year:

—"Project Mc2" was nominated for an Emmy for best children's series. I helped develop this important show, which promotes girls' involvement with science, technology, engineering and math. Being affiliated with such a trailblazing program requires that everyone hold herself up to the highest echelon of intelligence, elegance and etiquette — which is why I waited until after the Emmys ended to steal the large sign with an arrow reading, "Emmy's Red Carpet This Way." I held my chin high as I walked past security, shoes in one hand, stolen Emmys sign in the other, before breaking out into a full sprint toward the garage where the car was parked. If that doesn't send the right message to the youth of America, I don't know what will.

—My daughter was not born in 2016, but she became awesome in 2016. A late-October baby, it wasn't until this year that she began smiling back and learned to crawl and then walk and now run. It's the year she learned how to make me squeal by simply calling my name to bring attention to the shiny quarter in her hand before putting it in her mouth. How she loves this game, and she laughs hysterically as I come running over, screaming, only to show me she still has the quarter in her hand. Ta-da! My baby has basically mastered the grandpa-pulling-a-coin-out-from-behind-your-ear magic trick. Houdini reincarnate.

—"Stop Farting in the Pyramids," a best-of compilation of my columns, was published. The best thing to come from this was a hilarious email from the wife of a friend who was mentioned in a column. I wrote about the time he was stopped at customs while re-entering America with a bag full of worn panties — my panties. He had them because I'd realized I'd packed too many pairs — by the dozens — and had loaded off the extra undies to him, as he was heading home from Europe when my backpacking trip was beginning. His wife emailed that she knew in her gut that this nameless friend had to be her husband. But how could she not know that the man she has spent the past 15 years with, who fathered her children, was once stopped and questioned at customs for carrying a bag of women's underwear? She made him read the book. His ears turned red, and she had her answer. My book, bringing couples closer together, one mortifying story at a time.

—This will always be the year that I decided to author my own life — to take a risk on a longtime dream to open a writers retreat. Thus, this will always be the year that I spent countless hours pouring lime around the perimeter of my new property and engaging in ridiculous antics, such as chanting to rocks carved into serpent shapes, to keep the slithering sisterhood at bay. There was also a weird dance on the shore of the lake that was witnessed by three teenage neighbors, who to this day won't look me in the eye. Or perhaps I'm the one who is avoiding eye contact.

May you cling to the silly, frivolous and joyful parts of 2016. And may all your many pieces, the struggles and the joys, constellate into a kind 2017. See ya next year.

Katiedid Langrock is author of the book "Stop Farting in the Pyramids," available at http://www.creators.com/books/stop-farting-in-the-pyramids. Like Katiedid Langrock on Facebook, at http://www.facebook.com/katiedidhumor. To find out more about her and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate webpage at www.creators.com.