Rules for Life

Happy Global Hug Your Kids Day

Dear Kid,

Happy Yellow Pig Day! (Yes, it's a thing, and yes you should read about it.) DearKidLoveMom.comToday is Yellow Pig Day! Remember what that means? Neither did I, so click here to reread about it.

It’s also Peach Ice Cream Day! Know what that means? Know what that means? Go eat some peach ice cream and think about it.

Most importantly, it’s Global Hug Your Kids Day.

I think Global Hug Your Kids Day is a great idea. Hugs are important. Hugs are essential. Hugs are calorie-free chocolate.

Happy Global Hug Your Kids Day! DearKidLoveMom.com

But you are not here and that makes it more difficult to hug you. (And by “more difficult” I mean impossible.)

This presents a celebratory dilemma.

I could suggest you give yourself a hug for me. Not a terrible idea, but certainly not one of my best.

I could text one of your friends or co-workers and ask one of them to give you a hug. That would work better if I knew how to contact one of them. (I wonder if it’s too late to rent a skywriting plane…)

I could wrap a hug in plastic and mail it to you, but a) that doesn’t seem very satisfactory and b) it won’t get there for a few days. Next!

I could write a blog letter and post it online. Oh, wait, I already do that.

Or maybe, I can send you a virtual hug. Just tell you how much I love you and that I wish I were near enough to hug you in person.

Virtual hug, coming your way.

Love, Mom

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You Really Won’t Believe What I Did This Time

You Really Won’t Believe What I Did This Time

Dear Kid,

I really am a good person.

Remember when Auntie C was visiting a few weeks ago? She had recently purchased an Apple Watch which she was very pleased with (and by “very pleased with” I mean adores silly).

“But,” she said to me. “Alas and alack,” she said. “Woe unto me,” she moaned, “I have a problem and know not what to do.”

“Dearie me, Auntie C,” I cried with alarm, “Tell me what is wrong and I will do anything in my power to right the travesty!”

Auntie C only hid her face in her hands. “I cannot,” she whispered.

“Be not afraid, Auntie,” said I, “Tell me what I can do.”

“It’s my Fitbit,” she said even more softly. “It’s alone, and in box. I’m so ashamed.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of!” I squeaked, “Enjoying kale—definitely shame worthy. But moving to a new technology means leaving the old behind.”

But it made no difference—her sorrow was palpable.

I couldn’t bear it. “Tell me, Auntie C,” I begged, “Tell me what I can do to lift this cloud from your shoulders.”

“Well,” she began, “No, I couldn’t.”

“Yes, yes, you can,” I assured her.

“No,” she said, flinging the back of her hand to her forehead, “It’s too much to ask.”

“Ask, ask!”

After a time (about 6 seconds), she relented. “Would it be too much—you can of course say no—would it be too much to ask you—no, no, I can’t—would it be too much to ask you to take my Fitbit?”

Time stood still as the enormity of her request floated across to me. Was I ready for this? Could I adopt someone else’s Fitbit? Would I feel the same as I’d felt about my own?

Without pausing consider the matter too deeply I burst out, “Of course, of course! For you, anything. I will take your cast off Fitbit and treat it as my very own.”

Which is how I find myself wearing (wait for it) a PURPLE Fitbit. It is adorable. It is a charming. It sits on my wrist like it belongs there (because it does belong there). I figured out how to sync it with my phone without any help from the under-30 set.

I am so happy.

And I did a good deed.

Love, Mom

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Poison Ivy: The Poem

Dear Kid,

Poison Ivy: The PoemI have a case of poison ivy

That’s what’s making me so whiney

And by “whiney” I mean bitchy

‘Cause this stuff is so dang itchy.

I know the rhyme of “leaves of three”

But that assumes that you will see

The leaves to let them be.

And these dread leaves were hiding sly

Waiting to attack my thigh.

I knew that something wasn’t right

But thought, “It’s just a ‘skeeter bite.”

I thought the bugs had come to dine

I was wrong—it was the vine.

Or maybe it is poison oak?

Now there’s an itch that is no joke.

Who cares? Just get the calamine

So I can find relief sublime

And stop the itch for a short time

And ditch the poison ivy twitch.

Love, Mom

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The Sound of Silence (I Wish)

The Sound of Silence (I Wish)

Dear Kid,

You know the Sound of Silence? The one where nothing disturbs a beautiful sleep? The one Simon & Garfunkel sang of so eloquently back in the day? The one that’s supposed to exist on a summer Sunday morning?

We didn’t have it today.

Instead, the Puppy decided to practice his impression of an alarm clock. A very unhappy alarm clock. An alarm clock no one bothered to turn off.

After doing my best to ignore him for a while, I rolled out of bed to see what the catastrophe was. He wagged happily, said good morning politely, and returned to his pillow for a nap. I made coffee.

If I had to guess, I’d say that he was upset about not being invited on the bike ride with Dad and Pi. But since they aren’t here at the moment, I can’t inquire. Because the Puppy isn’t talking.

Have a good Sunday, kiddo.

Love, Mom

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You’re Not Going to Believe What Went Into These S’mores

Dear Kid,

The other day it rained.

Not a monsoon, but enough to break out my beloved rain boots and scurry from car to building under an umbrella. A big umbrella, not the tiny collapsible kind.

By early evening the storm had passed, leaving everything sparkly fresh. And wet.

So we made s’mores the traditional way—by cooking the marshmallows over the stovetop. DearKidLoveMom.comPi had one of her friends over to visit and Dad suggested s’mores. He’s been particularly s’more-fixated this year. The girls thought it was a fine idea. They collected the ingredients and Dad, thePuppy, and I went outside to build a fire.

Did I mention “wet”?

We searched high and low to find semi-dry fire building material (strong emphasis on “semi”), and we had no trouble creating fire—that is, lighting the matches. Many matches.

The Puppy amused himself by digging a bed in the mulch.

After a while, Dad decided to (sacrilege!) add newspaper as a fire starter. We had no difficulty in lighting the newspaper. We even managed to get some of the pine needles to smoke and smolder a bit.

After another while, the girls, the Puppy, and I went inside where we made s’mores the traditional way—by cooking the marshmallows over the stovetop. (Advantages: actual heat and fewer mosquitoes.) Dad refused to give up and continued to attempt to create fire.

Many, many matches gave their lives in the attempt. No actual wood was harmed.

We invited Pi’s friend to come back another time when the probability of lighting a fire might be higher.

Love, Mom

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The Speed of Summer

The Speed of Summer

Dear Kid,

Is it just me, or did summer just take a huge step forward?

To me, summer seems like a rollercoaster. June chugs along at a reasonably slow if steady pace, with lots and lots of time left to go. July 4th is the summit, where we take a deep breath before plunging headlong into a race to September.

Take a deep breath—the speed of summer is accelerating. DearKidLoveMom.comJust a week or two ago we had all the time in the world. Now, splat! The wind is flying past our faces while we wonder how we are ever going to get all the summer things done before the end of summer.

On the plus side, I’ve seen the Minions movie, so I can check that off the to-do list.

And Dad has more than half the mulch down. We’re really way ahead of things this year.

Take a deep breath—the speed of summer is accelerating.

Love, Mom

P.S. Happy 7/7/17 

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