I stopped announcing to the world that I was going to the bathroom when I was about four. Then I became a mom and starting announcing it again. I would think, at this point, I could stop again, but I know I can’t. I know the minute I leave the room without telling you all where I’m going you will start frantically searching for me because, the minute I leave the room without telling you, something monumental and requiring my attention will happen. Like, one of you will want a drink of water (which, of course, you are always allowed to have and able to get on your own, so what is he freaking deal?). So I continue to announce when nature calls, even though I’d rather not. Because I continue to accommodate your need to know where I am at every conceivable moment, I am asking for a favor in return. To wit: When I tell you I am going to the bathroom, LET. ME. GO. Do not suddenly decide that this is the time to tell me about the dream you had last night, the math problem you’ve been stuck on for the past five minutes, the story you are reading that you think is stupid, something one of your friends told you at church last Sunday, or that you want another drink of water. From now on, when I say I’m going to the bathroom? I’m going. If you start talking to me I will just pretend like I don’t hear you. Deal? Deal. Unless, of course, you’d rather I just soil myself where I stand and leave it for you to clean up. No? Didn’t think so.
Dear Latest Bit of Cootervillian Gossip,
Good grief, I hope it’s just all been somehow blown out of proportion or something. If not, you’re sure to bring some national media attention to Cooterville. My heart breaks for the innocent people people who are already feeling the sting of public humiliation.
Dear People Who Stood In The Black Friday Line That Wrapped Around Target THREE TIMES,
I got all the same deals online, plus free shipping, the day before. I have always enjoyed the crazy, standing-in-line Black Friday shopping, but not this year. This year I enjoyed sleep. And you know what? I liked it more than freezing in line with a bunch of strangers who are prepared to draw and quarter me, if need be, to get the best deals.
Dear Readers/Friends Who Left Suggestions for Christmas,
I realized I probably wasn’t as clear as I should have been when writing that post. We do have other Christmas traditions besides me wrapping presents in self-inflicted solitary confinement and feeding missionaries on Christmas morning. We have decorating traditions, and we have the zoo light tradition (this year I believe we are going to forego the local zoo for a location that has both a light display and a train – perhaps we will watch The Polar Express before going). We have a book we read every year, and we always read Luke’s account of the nativity on Christmas Eve. Last year we even read it in our barn, sitting on the hay, with the horses and dogs snorffling all around us. That was going to be a new tradition, but now, since we can’t have our horses on our property, there is no hay in our current barn. Somehow, going out there to read the scriptural account of the nativity while sitting on the trampoline and riding mower just doesn’t seem as . . . meaningful. Anyway, so while we do have traditions (oh, we also almost always find a family in need and buy Christmas presents for them as well), we’re looking for some new ones that would be more about giving back and serving others leading up to and on Christmas Day.
Dear New House,
I love decorating for Christmas, and I love you, new house; but I do not love the challenge of figuring out where to put all of our Christmas decorations in a new house with a much different configuration, all whilst four or five children are running around maniacally because THE CHRSITMAS DECORATIONS ARE OUT!
Dear Advertisement for I Don’t Remember What,
Thank you for the call to repentance. I don’t remember what you were advertising, but that woman standing in front of an ornately festooned mantle, showing off her 800 thread count Egyptian silk (do they make silk in Egypt?) stockings accented with Austrian crystals and saying, “Oh, no! These aren’t for the children. These are for Christmas!” was, I’m embarrassed to admit, what I needed. You see, I’ve been wanting to get rid of my kids’ Christmas stockings for a couple of years now and replace them with something nicer . . . something more classy . . . something more . . . well, not what my kids want. Which, of course, is why I haven’t done it. My kids love their corny stockings and could care less that the mere sight of them would bring the likes of Martha Stewart to tears. I, in the meantime, have been dying a little on the inside every time we’ve hung them up for the past few years. But not this year. Thanks to that advertisement for whatever it was, I realize once again that the stockings are for my kids, not for Christmas.
Stay tuned. We have a new blog project in the works. And by we, and mean me and my kids. Hopefully we’ll have it all figured out and ready by the first of the year.
Dear Random Searchers Who Keeping Finding This Post,
For the love of all that’s holy! Yes!! Cardboard can go in the oven!!! You can even make an oven out of cardboard! As long as the temperature isn’t above 451 degrees F, it is just FINE. A good way to remember this is to read Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451. Not only will it embed the burning temperature of paper into your mind, it will make you think long and hard about your life and the current state of our society.
If you’re reading, Tewt the Newt says hello!