Dear Kid,

I love my children.

I love them even when they borrow my shoes without asking and then hoard said shoes in their room. (At least I know where to look for footwear.)

I love them even when they ask me to find a pair of red sneakers somewhere in the laundryroom—and then it turns out the sneakers are mostly white with the barest hint of red trim and are at the bottom of a pile of papers in the back of the closet in their room.

I love them when they call at 4am to say they’ve locked the keys in the car and could I please do a rescue run—before 5am.

I love them even when they leave dishes and glasses scattered all over the house—despite having learned from an early age how to rinse plates and put them in the dishwasher.

I love them when they forget to tell me that important deadlines are fast approaching—as in NOW!

I love them even when I have to say “No.” Although that is becoming less frequent as they get older.

I love them when—even though they sufficient drawer space—they seem utterly incapable of putting away clean laundry.

I love them when I ask them to do a simple chore and the huffing and eye-rolling is Oscar-worthy because they are in the middle of watching reruns of Friends.

I love them when—despite having perfect hearing when it comes to being waited on hand and foot—they are utterly deaf to pleas to help bring in groceries from the car.

Yes, I would like them to figure out how to put away clothes and clear dishes and bring in groceries. But the good news is I watch them being kind, considerate, intelligent, and helpful with other people. And I figure if these are the biggest problems in my world, I’ve got a pretty good life.

But don’t tell my kids.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Well, we’ve had quite an animal-filled week. Wombats, dead fuzzy duck and dead TV, and Rodney the Bird. (If you think a dead TV isn’t an animal, you probably haven’t been paying attention.)

Also, I’m pretty sure our house is alive.

Last weekend I spent a LOT of time cleaning. I don’t mean my standard “It’s been 3 whole minutes, it’s as clean as it’s ever gonna get” lots of time. I mean serious hours. Measured by the clock. I removed pounds of ick from our house. I put things away (crazy, right?).

Today, you would never know someone even thought about getting the house in order.

I’m pretty sure it’s the house’s fault. No one who lives here would even consider leaving clutter around.

And the ants have invaded again. You remember them. They are the little bitty black spots with too many legs that like to invade the sink (full of unclean pots and dishes) looking for a bit of free lunch. Heebie and Jeebie.

Guess what is going to be on the pismire menu for dinner?

If you guessed ant traps, give yourself a gold star.

Is it weird that my grocery list is chicken, tomatoes, eggs, ant traps?

Have a great day and enjoy studying for exams.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I went grocery shopping last night. Kroger’s policy is that once you hit the checkout line, they want to help you give them your money and get out of the store quickly (before you can reconsider whether you need 2 more boxes of coffee K-cups or that box of chocolate chip cookies). Speed at that point is good.

Who am I to argue with such a noble cause? I was wearing 4 inch heels, so I was ready to go home.

So I put the groceries on the conveyer (yes, I also really needed two kinds of new treats for the puppy), handed over my frequent shopper card, and ran my credit card through the little machine. All speedily to keep up with the program.

While I ran the cards and chatted with the cashier (making sure she didn’t charge me for two boxes of the new kind of tea I decided to try instead of the one I wanted [she didn’t, but you never know]), the bag boy bagged the groceries.

“No, no” the environmentalist within me woke up from her nap to notice the bagging. I’d only brought in one reusable bag (my inner environmentalist has got to get better at putting bags in the car) and the groceries (yes, I really did need two packets of lamb to make stew for Dad and Pi) didn’t fit in the one bag even after I put the tp directly in my cart. The bagger had finished plastic bag number 1 and moved on to plastic bag number 2. “No, no, just put as much as you can in the first bag.” Inner Environmentalist didn’t think the bagger limit of two items per bag was quite right.

Zip, zip, the cashier handed me my receipts and coupons (for things I will never buy) and off I went.

It wasn’t until I got to the car that I realized that the bagger had carefully triple bagged the groceries for me.

The best laid plans.

Love, Mom