May 7, 2009
Dear Mother's Day,
It appears I cannot give my mother a nice scarf or a good book or a lunch out -- as the mother of her grandchildren I am required to be CRAFTY. Please note, Mother's Day, I do not have a crafty bone in my body. All previous attempts at craftiness ended up in the trash, down the disposal or burned in the fireplace. I feel this obligatory handmade grandchild gift sets too high a standard, especially since the grandchildren have yet to even master a crayon. Have pity on me, Mother's Day. What about a nice geranium, hmm?
You are my precious, favorite, darling and best girl, but if you continue to shriek in terror every time your brother so much as looks your way I am going to give you back to the hospital. I thought I had at least a few YEARS before the two of you started fighting, but it's been several weeks now that you've equated Jack with cooties. At first I thought he was really torturing you, but then I caught you pre-scream and no, it appears you just don't want to share your personal space. I can't say I blame you, but I'm sorry, you're the baby, you don't have a choice. Suck it up, kid. I've been there and it's going to be a long eighteen years.
Dear My Treadmill,
I'm sorry to tell you that the intimate relationship we've cultivated is based on one thing and one thing only: the number on my scale. Since the number on my scale hasn't moved for over a month, I'm not sure I have what it takes to keep the romance alive. Maybe if you start holding up your end of the deal, we can keep seeing each other.
Let me know what you decide,
You are my precious, favorite, darling and best boy, but toddlers cannot live on milk alone. I am extra annoyed at how much time I wasted worrying about your milk intake at this time last year. If only I'd known your love for milk would take over your love for everything else. These are noodles, not poison. This is chicken, not rattlesnake. I do not understand the eating drama and I do my best not to let it make me crazy, but SERIOUSLY, at this rate the doctor is going to call CPS after your two-year appointment.
And no, you may not have cake for breakfast,
Dear Pack 'n Play,
You are the best baby invention ever. You are making it possible to transition Molly out of my closet and into her brother's room without having to disassemble and move and reassemble a crib at 3 in the morning which is, as you know, not the best time for negotiating and working with one's spouse. I can even buy cute girly sheets for you, which makes me feel a little less guilty about the fact that my son sleeps in a rock solid earthquake-proof $300 crib and my daughter sleeps in a blue and brown playpen in front of the closet door. It's a step up from the closet, right?
Dear Two Flights Of Carpeted Stairs In My House,
We've reached a point where I can no longer ignore the fact that you are a completely different color than the rest of the carpet in my house, a color most people know as Dirt. Suddenly I know exactly what I want for Mother's Day.
Sorry about that,
Please see note above re: stairs. Flyer for maid service is in the recycling bin.