Letters to Someone

Dear Loony Bin ~

My name is Kim.  I work about 60 hours a week, write a halfass blog and am a basketball widow to two elementary school children who have a Christmas pageant this week.  My shopping's not done, my house is not clean and I could work an extra 60 hours this week and still not be done.  Do you think that I could get a free trial pass to your fine establishment?  You know, test the padded walls and the special attire - no strings attached?  I can be there tomorrow and would like to cut a deal with you before I am shipped there without recourse.  Give me a call.  You can reach me at 555-LOST

Most Sincerely,
Miss May Need Meds Soon

Dear Darling Boy ~

Your candor is one of my favorite things about you. Mostly.  But we'll need to start working on your censor button and timing during the holiday break.  Like when I was filming you during your customs presentation and your teacher was extolling the virtues of your Grandpa making your ceppo by hand and how nice it was that you could spend time with him and work on your project.  You didn't HAVE TO SAY "no, he made it by himself while we were out shopping."  Timing and censorship, sweetie.  And we don't really need to send back our Christmas cards.  The printer didn't "mess up our faces".  That's an outdoor glow on our cheeks.  And sweat.  Remember the ten mile hike? And how it looks like we're sitting in the tops of trees because we WALKED THERE!!!!!  You are precious, but you gotta learn how to zip it.  We'll work on it together.

I Do Love You,
Your Mama

Sweet Angel Girl,

Have I gotten through to you at all that the Christmas pageant in the sanctuary is a religious event?  And you being an angel shouldn't be a total facade . . .  I appreciate that Mrs. Nelson thinks a simple costume is best and that we can add garland to an old tee shirt.  However, just because my smallest tee shirt has some give in it for you, there's no reason to go poking your shoulder out of the neck and trying to turn your performance into Flashdance.  I think it's charming that your halo is slightly crooked, but you're really starting to get to me.  You're five and you're going to stay five for as long as I can keep you there.  There must be a one in front of the five for you to act like this.  And there's not.  You're mine.  Straighten up.

Break A Leg and Sing Like An Angel.  A Tiny, Innocent Angel.
Mom

Dear Christmas Tree ~

I love you.  You make me unconditionally happy amidst all the other chaos.  Thank you for being with us again this year.  We are very, very lucky.

xoxo,
Just Shy of a Scrooge

Letters to Someone happen around here every Thursday.  You can visit Shortmama to be part of the fun.