Dear children of mine,
Thank you ever so much for teaching Kate the "Guess-what-chicken-butt" game. She plays it all by herself and thinks she is completely hilarious. Hearing her laugh is definitely funny, but I don't appreciate such language from a two-year-old. Seriously, boys, I don't need any help getting bad looks from strangers at the grocery store.
I always feel so scattered, like I have a million things to do but can't remember what exactly I should be doing. When I expressed this frustration to a friend yesterday, she suggested making a to-do list on my phone since it is always with me (which was hilarious, because I'm the techie in our relationship). Then I was like, "DUH!" because you are the perfect app for that, and you are even on the screen with all my other favorite apps. Let's get something done, OK?
You are my very favorite time waster. I'll be honest: most of my visits to your domain have nothing to do with socializing or curiosity. I'm just avoiding real life. However, I am getting super tired of the political and religious rants on your walls, so I am taking suggestions for another totally unproductive thing to do with my time.
Thanks for putting that smart little maintenance icon on my van's dashboard. I appreciate not having to think about when I need to get the oil changed. I have to admit, though, that I didn't believe you when you flashed the oil warning sign last week. It had only been two months since the last oil change, and surely I hadn't driven 3,000 miles already. Oh, wait. It was more like 3,500 miles. In eight weeks. No wonder I'm spending so much money on gas. If I stopped driving for a month, we'd easily save the money required for the 60,000-mile service that the van needs. Ha.
Dear Cliff at the Corporate Office,
When you called to get my feedback on my recent oil change, you were audibly surprised when I told you I had to wait 90 minutes for the service. Frankly, I was surprised, too. I had an appointment, after all, and it's not like the mechanics had to drill for oil in the back yard before pouring it into the tank. Despite your apologies, I doubt anything will change. It's a good thing I only have to go in every eight weeks. Wait...that's not really a good thing.
If you include meal preparation, I'd rather go to the other place.
Dear Oriental Chicken Salad,
I have been craving you for nigh unto a month. One of these days I'm going to drive across town and eat one of you, perhaps in the car in front of my children, if I have to.
You should have married Victoria while you had her. She was awesome. But I'm guessing since this is only the first season, you found someone better. Hopefully your thing with Robin isn't a Ross-and-Rachel drama for years on end.
A fan of How I Met Your Mother
I'm glad Zach's dietary needs are under your care. He listens to you, probably since you're on retainer with athletes at the Olympic Training Center. He ate so much more this week that I finally think we are moving in the right direction. Even though you intimidate the heck out of me, I kind of want to hire you for myself. Maybe if I could shed the weight that I worked so hard to lose last year, Zach wouldn't worry so much about becoming fat like his mother, which is what got us to your office in the first place.
The lady who wrote your fat (haha!) check
I'm so glad you and your three cute girls moved in across the way. I love that you text about sending our kids back and forth ("Six incoming...did they land safely?"). I also love that you offered to be my back-up market when I am cooking or baking and am missing an ingredient. You don't know this yet, but I'm always out of something important on Sunday afternoon. And thank you for being a nurse so I can pick your brain.
The neighbor with all the kids and the fun back yard
I can't believe I used to love you. I am trying to pretend you are Christmas and thus delight in the giving of gifts to my children--in the form of silly costumes and lots of candy--instead of seeing you for what you really are, which is expensive and pointless. Boo.
Do you really want to be a unicorn? Really?
Dear Chick fil-A,
Did Kate leave her shoe in your parking lot the other week? I think she might have kicked it out of the van as we were leaving after lunch one day. I keep meaning to call you, but since you aren't open until 11:00, I haven't done it, because the productive hours of my day are long over by then. But I am really missing that little pink Croc.
Last week I planted 72 tulip bulbs in my front flower bed. Yesterday I noticed about 20 holes in said bed, and I think you are responsible. If you messed with my flowers, I might do something crazy, like...well, I don't know. But I'm really mad and will be looking up squirrel repelling/killing/poisoning solutions online later today. I'd better put that on my list.
I know life isn't a competition, but if you keep having expensive fancy exciting birthday parties, my kids are going to feel like losers. Or really, that their mother is a loser. I have two birthday boys this fall, and it's an even year so they get parties, and we can't keep up.
Dear Swiffer Wet Jet,
You are the best solution (ha! pun!) I have found for cleaning my large wood floor. I have lived in this house five years, so it's about time, right? My only complaint is that your disposable cleaning pads remind me a little too much of sanitary pads. I barf in my mouth a little every time I throw them away.