Let me start by saying that I really do super appreciate your willingness to lend a helping hand around here. I realize that I was out of town for almost a whole week (with the littles) and that I left you to fend for yourself in this evilly challenging and increasingly more electronic domestic world. I furthermore realize that I put you in a severe bind when your clothes failed to magically appear clean and folded in your drawers while I was away and you had to revert back to the “pre-me” days of re-wearing your undies a second time inside out. So when I came home and was washing the mounds of laundry that you three boys impressively accumulate day in and day out, I love that you jumped up, without grunts, groans or complaints to help when I asked if you could “throw in the next load.” When you didn’t come back and I went to check on you, I must admit that my jaw literally dropped to the floor when I found you had piled up all of the dirties into the DRYER and were frantically searching for the compartment to which you needed to add the detergent. You have had me fooled for nearly nine years. All this time I THOUGHT you COULD do laundry and assumed you just didn’t want to. Now I know that you really never knew how. And that, my darling, is quite, um, remarkable (for lack of a better word.) I hope you don’t have any other dirty secrets hiding in the proverbial closet (don’t you love that pun?!).
With love from your doting wife
When (after playing outside with y’all for five straight hours) I said I wanted to revel in just a few minutes of quiet time by checking and reading the mail INSIDE on the sofa while Cookie napped, I really, really
wanted needed to do that. But you didn’t listen when I said “NO” and you followed me out to the mailbox. And not only did you follow me to the mailbox, but you locked us outside. With your brother inside. And the aforementioned laundry in the dryer (that I could nearly see bursting into flames.) On purpose, because you didn’t want to have to go back inside. So I frantically called your daddy on both his cell and work phones, time and again. Like ten times and again. Until he excused himself from the important meeting that he was in to see what the fuss was all about. And then he literally ran to his car and sped home to save us. All the while I am in a PANIC. The pacing the deck, looking through the windows, praying the dryer doesn’t start a fire, hoping the baby sleeps until daddy makes the thirty minute drive home, not able to think clearly kind of panic. So, not only did I not get to read the mail or sit on the sofa for a spell, but I undoubtedly shaved a few years off my life due to the sheer stress of the situation. From now on, NO means NO. (And I really mean it this time.)
With love from your aged-five-years-due-to-panic mommy
PS. I was so out of my mind that I failed to remember that our brand spanking new garage door also came with a key pad. I could hardly believe my luck when sister just happened to call me twenty minutes into the full fledged PANIC and perplexedly asked why I hadn’t just used that. Oh. Em. Ge. My name is Amanda and I am a total and complete FLAKE.
It is my hearts desire that you, and your brother alike, are satisfied with your lives. Not just happy, because that is elusive and unsustainable and often depends on things outside of our control, but satisfied. So as you grow and make your way in the world, I assure you that I will do my very best to keep an open mind and understanding heart as you make the decisions and pursue the forks in the road that will shape you into the adult you will inevitably one day become. That being said, I need to go ahead and rule out the profession of “contortionist” that you seem to be so promisingly gearing up for. I am not sure how you wiggled your chunky thighs, thick tummy and long arms out of the throws of the five point harness on the best-carseat-money-can-buy while I sped down the fast lane on I-75 but it was definitely NOT COOL. Not cool at all when your blond locks and baby blues proudly popped into the front seat. Or when I frantically had to swerve across four lanes of traffic to take the next random exit (thank the Lord we were in a decent part of town) to put you back in your proper place. I must admit that it was a remarkable David Copperfield-esque feat, but it was certainly not one I’d like to see again. Ever. How about let’s pursue something nice, needed, practical, safe and super close to home (read: engineering.)
With love from your not only aged-five-years-due-to-panic but also certainly-now-has-gray-hairs mommy