For a horse? You rock. I just wanted to thank you for doing your business directly onto the pile of horse business rather than randomly throughout the pasture (even though I know you still do that sometimes). Remember, every deposit you drop onto the pile yourself is one less the kids have to scoop up and put onto the pile themselves.
You suck. You have until June, and if you haven’t shaped up you’re gone. Good thing that was a dog and not a kid you kicked in the face, and good thing you didn’t kick very hard. Putz.
Dear Middle School Peeps,
I attended your seventh and eighth-grade choir concert this week to see my daughter sing. I won’t bother telling you it mostly reminded me of an American Idol audition, because you probably already know that, and, after all, they are only seventh and eighth-graders who are pretty much being forced against their will to sing publicly. What I will tell you, however, is that the entire gymnasium/auditorium smelled (quite strongly) like the Qwik Mart. By the time the evening was over I had the oddest hankering for Pepsi, taquitos, and lotto tickets, coupled with the desire to heave. Is there a way to fix that for next time? Thanks.
Dear Random Parents who Had the Misfortune of Sitting in Front of us in Bleacher Seating at the Concert,
Again, I am so sorry members of my family kept bumping into you. Truly. I was so focused on trying to pay attention to the concert and keep the two-year-old on my lap happy that I just didn’t notice my five-year-old was making a project of shoving his big, puffy, winter coat down the front of his shirt until he almost had it. Hopefully my husband will be in town for the next choir concert so that we can double team our circus. Really, really sorry.
Dear Many People Who Haven’t Bothered RSVPing for Our Christmas Party This Weekend,
Shall I assume you aren’t coming and plan accordingly? If you show up anyway can I put you in a dark room with no food? Just kidding! We still hope you come. But in the future a heads up would be nice.
Dear Husband’s Employer,
Not to be a total ingrate over the fact that my husband has a job, but really? Who decided December was the month to negotiate that contract he helped write? But still, thanks for wrapping things up early enough that he got to come home last night. Please let’s not do this again next week if at all possible. Oh, and by the way? If you ever actually follow through and give him the promotion you keep talking about, and should that require we move to your state (which it probably won’t, and I really don’t want to do, though it would put me back in civilization, which would be really nice) I think I’ve already found a house. I mean, sure, it was just a half hour or so of searching real estate listings online, and things can look great online and totally suck in person, but . . . six bedrooms and an indoor swimming pool? In our price range? On over three acres but still in a neighborhood? They really are giving real estate away in your neck of the woods, aren’t they?
Dear Makers of Rice Dream,
An egg-free, dairy-free, soy-free egg nog! And it actually tastes good! It’s a Christmas miracle!!!!! How can I ever thank you enough? How????? Do you need a date for New Year’s Eve? I think after I put the kids to bed tonight I’m going to pour myself a cup, put some imitation rum flavor in it, and pretend to get drunk. God bless you, every one.
Dear Tiger Woods,
Thank you. You’ve given me new material to work with. I don’t get many rude questions about my Asian sons and how they came to be my childen, but the next time some nosey stranger asks I’m just going to nonchalantly say, “Oh, I had an affair with Tiger Woods. Yep, one of the twelve. That jerk, he said I was the only one who really understood him. Oh well, at least the child support is killer.”
If you’re out there, Tewt the Newt (who was a real newt, but for blogging purposes sometimes is me, though not always) says hello.