My Dear Letters

Sorry people, my patience is beginning to wear thin along with the skin of my stretched out belly button. And... I know it comes as a shock to you all, but my humor is getting harder and harder to find as well.

It's here somewhere.

They say it shows up while I'm in labor. That I crack witty remarks about stuff.

Good to know. Not that I'd really feel bad if I were completely sarcastic and rude for ONE DAY OF MY LIFE. (erm, X 4...)

Okay. Glad I got that off my chest.

Anyway, thought I'd share some random rantings with you in the form of My Dear Letters since I haven't done that in a while!


Dear Twert,

Stop barking at Grandma and Grandpa. They've been here for 6 weeks. They are not strangers. They are not threatening your yard or your "domain" in any way. You would think that by now I would be completely immune to your startling yaps, but no. I still nearly jump out of my skin when I'm peacefully reading a book and you yap so hard you fall off the back of the couch next to me.

Seriously. If I had wanted a motion detector I would have bought one instead of adopting a mutt with an overbite and a serious case of Small-Dog syndrome. You are NOT a doberman. And while we're at it - STOP peeing on the planters on the porch!!!

signed: a-nerves-on-edge-already-Ewok-owner


Dear Elayna,

I'm so very happy that you have decided finally to be a big girl and use the toilet. But again, I have to give you the same advice I gave Twert - please stop peeing on the porch!!! I know it's you because I recognize the cute little new big-girl panties I bought last week sitting in the middle of the puddle, so while you may say, "It wasn't me, Momma!" I kinda know better.

signed: a-slightly-chagrined-"Watch-that-first-step!"-hope-it-rains-soon-Lisa



Dear 10-Fingered and 10-Toed Monsters,

I know it's terribly exciting to be the one who gets to find the treasures in the mailbox. Really, I do. In fact, until you all discovered it, it was one of the highlights of my day. I enjoyed stepping out of the house, removing myself from the craziness all around to take a few deep breaths and listen to the birds chirping in the trees.

And then you found out sometimes mail comes *gasp* addressed to YOU KIDS!!! Suddenly there is a race to the mailbox every afternoon and I am constantly wondering if ALL the mail came in in your grubby little hands or... not. But the best part? The best part is randomly finding pieces of mail that I have tried to mail OUT strewn about the yard. Or, worse yet, OPENED. Like when I found the car payment in the irises. Or rather, the envelope for the car payment. Torn up. And completely missing the check and the stub. Not cool. Not cool at all. Unless you want to hitchhike to school, the car payment does, in fact, need to be paid. Please keep this in mind for all future reference.

signed: a-slightly-harried-mom-who-doesn't-enjoy-picking-up-bits-of-mail-from-the-yard-TYVM.



Dear Bathroom Scales:

I realize we have always had a love/hate relationship, but I have to admit, I think you are giving me mixed signals right now and I'm confused. I can't decide if you are being genuinely nice or if you are conspiring to embarrass me. If you are being nice, please clue in the mirror. The mirror says I should have gained 40 lbs in order to look as...ENORMOUS...as that. YOU however, tell me I have gained WAY less than that, so you tell me - WHO'S LYING here?! I'm inclined to think the mirror. She lies a lot. Kind of like cameras. Deceitful little things, the whole lot. If they've sucked you into playing some sort of cruel joke on me I may have to take you all out and let the children use you to play "paleontologist". It may take them years to find where I've buried you. Don't mess with a hormonal woman. Especially when it comes to her weight. I'm just warning you.

signed: an-I-don't-REALLY-talk-to-my-scales-(usually)-Lisa




Dear Old Biddies That Work At Children's Stores,

WHY?! What on earth draws you to take a job or own a store that deals with children when CLEARLY you do not like the little critters touching your things. WHY? Seriously. There is a good reason why my children will never do any bear-building in our local mall. I have taken a vow to never darken your door again. Okay. I MIGHT be a little oversensitive on that one - seeing as how the only incident involving said store happened right after Joshua's surgery and I was still in total Mother Bear mode, and it's quite possible I am still overreacting but who really needs a bear, anyway?

Please.

And to the other Old Biddies in other stores: There is just something so passive-aggressive about telling my children what they need to do or not do when I am STANDING RIGHT THERE! Do you have a problem looking me in the eye while you tell me I need to advise my children against doing XYZ? Really. The only reason I'm allowing it is because I was either distracted by the sales rack or hadn't yet noticed the sign. You don't need to get all huffy about it. Yep, I fully admit that I avoid your store on Tuesdays and Fridays. If I can figure out what other shifts you work I'll avoid those too.

- signed: Mama Bear



Dear Fellow Pregnant Women About To Pop:

Stop with the whole, "I'm SOOOOO Done being pregnant" thing. Stop acting like you're the only ones in the whole world who are THAT uncomfortable in the last 8 weeks of pregnancy. Stop excusing your early inductions and your do-anything-and-everything-humanly-possible-to-bring-on-labor daily routine that starts the minute you hit 35 weeks. Stop accusing those of us who don't post ourselves at the door of the maternity ward and beg someone to give us pitocin at 37 weeks of being crazy, insane, or of having an "easier" time of it. Trust me, we don't. We live our daily lives JUST like you do and with the same amount of pain, discomfort, and inconvenience. But seriously, when did it EVER become an issue of comfort or convenience?!

I don't enjoy the constant pain, but neither does how miserable I am factor in any way what direction my birth plan is going to take. This baby will come when she is ready to come and that doesn't mean I won't have to put up with miserable nights, constant pain, aching, peeing, swelling, etc, etc. etc. Yeah, it won't kill me. Why would you ever choose to not put up with your own discomfort for the sake of your baby's health? Do some reading up on how babies born even before 39 weeks have higher rates of ADD/ADHD/Dislexia and how few problems actually arise for women waiting until 42 weeks to deliver. And then - RELAX. Have patience. Get a massage or something. And please stop accusing me of having it easier than you.

signed: Been-There-And-Done-That-too-many-times-to-buy-that.


Okay, well as you can see I'm now starting to get myself all worked up like an old wet hen, so I'd better end this now before it gets too carried away!