Dear Kid,

There ought to be a law.

There should be a deadline for when Christmas Holiday Christmas music needs to stop. And that time should be (according to my very scientific calculations) the Day After.

It is now officially time to pack away the tinsel drenched songs until next year. Yes, we can wait until October (seriously? Not even November?) to celebrate Rudolph, the partridge, and all bells (jingling or silent).

Especially at the gym. It’s hard enough to work out to I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas prior to the holiday. It’s virtually impossible now. And now they seem to be playing more of the dirge varieties. Knock it off, people!

Also, I have now officially heard the Worst Ever Christmas Song. Worst. Ever. It’s called Text Me Merry Christmas. The title should tell you all you need to know. I’m including it, but I don’t recommend listening.

What a sad commentary.

I’m hiding under my pillow until Groundhog Day.

Love, Mom

P.S. Congrats to the #CincyCyclones on the win last night!

Dear Kid,

It’s Super Bowl Sunday (which is almost as good as Eat Ice Cream for Breakfast Day but with better TV coverage). Not only are the traditional bets in play (who will win, who will lose, who will come out on top in the office square betting), but prop bets are going crazy.

You remember about Prop Bets right? They are the fabulously funky bets about everything other than the score of the game. Here are some of my faves available this year.

Note: You are a college student without lots of excess cash. All your bets should be for things like who washes the dishes after dinner, who takes out the trash this week, or other non-monetary consequences.

The second best prop bet for this year is how many times “dab” or “dabbing” will be said by announcers during the broadcast. Yes, I know what dabbing is (read here if you don’t) because I am twelve kinds of cool and I looked it up weeks ago. I don’t intend to count, but the betting is over two or under two and it’s hard to imagine they’ll say it less than twice. (NOTE: Halftime doesn’t count.)

The best prop bet for this year is whether “Left Shark” will make an appearance during halftime. You can also bet on which song Cold Play will play first (but not whether they’ll be cold), and what color shoes Beyoncé will be wearing.

Peyton Manning things you can bet on include whether he’ll announce his retirement in the post-game interview, whether he’ll throw a pick 6, and if he’ll be seen crying at any point during the broadcast.

Speaking of post-game interviews, you can bet on who the Super Bowl MVP will mention first (God, team, city/fans, coach, family, or something else).

You can place bets on a zillion things related to the coin toss, three zillion things related to kickers and punters, and five zillion things related to when scoring happens.

You can bet on whether Cam Newton will break the Super Bowl record for must rushing yards by a QB (see “dabbing” above).

You can—I swear I am not making this up—bet on the exact outcome of who wins the Super Bowl AND who wins the presidential election. You can bet on the Carolina Panthers winning the Super Bowl and the Golden State Warriors winning the NBA title. You can bet on whether the goals in the Montreal/Carolina NHL game February 7^th will be higher than the total number of receptions by Greg Olsen, and whether the Arsenal goals February 7 will be higher than the number of Peyton Manning TD passes.

You can bet about whether Mike Carey will be wrong about a challenge, whether there will be an earthquake during the game, and how long the national anthem will be.

You cannot—as far as I know—bet on whether your mother will stay awake to watch the entire game or what commercial people will be talking about tomorrow.

Happy Super Bowl.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

While you were busy waking up and I was busy making coffee, March 23^rd was busy celebrating its awesomeness. Because there are so many cool things about today that it takes an entire 24 hours to enjoy. There is no sleeping in for March 23^rd.

Way back in 1066, Halley’s Comet made its 18^th recorded appearance. Apparently, it had been appearing for a much longer time but nobody thought to make a note.

In 1490 on March 23, the first dated edition of Maimonides “Mishneh Torah” was published.

In 1743, Handel’s Messiah premiered in London. The king was so moved by the Hallelujah chorus he stood for it. That’s why we stand at performances of the Hallelujah chorus to this day.

In 1775, Patrick Henry proclaimed “Give me liberty or give me death.” He was speaking in favor of Virginian troops joining the Revolutionary War. (They did).

In 1836 Franklin Beale invented the coin press—so apparently we can thank Ol’ Frank for us having to carry pennies around.

Then on March 23, 1839, the Boston Morning Post used OK (oll correct) for the first time. And that’s OK with me.

Just a year later, Draper took the first successful photo (which was really a daguerreotype) of the moon.

In 1857, Elisha Otis (of the now famous Otis elevator) installed the first elevator.

In 1861, the first tramcars began operating in London.

In 1881, gas lamps set fire to the Nice (France) opera house. This is the first known instance of people being sung to death.

In 1903, the Wright brothers get a patent on their airplane.

In 1912, the Dixie cup was invented.

In 1922, the first airplane lands at the US capitol in WDC. Which is pretty cool considering how recently the airplane had been invented.

In 1929, the first telephone is installed in the White House. It is black. And it’s weird to think DC had the plane before the phone.

In 1994, Joey Buttafuoco is released from jail. Absolutely no one cares. Also Wayne Gretzky sets the NHL record with 802 goals scored. Lots of people care.

And it’s today. Happy today!

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

As you may have heard, we’re in the midst of March Madness. This means that instead of walking a plastic bottle over to the recycling bin, Dad now shoots, misses, and yells, “goal tending.” (Score so far: Dad: 0; recycle bin: 5.)

It also means the TV is tuned to basketball a lot. Possibly even more than a lot. And when it’s not basketball, it’s hockey (Frozen Four preliminary games), because apparently there are real life penalties for going sports-free during this season. (Score so far: Dad: much cheering; Booker: napping interrupted with each score).

The TV remote is getting an incredible workout. I’m sure it works for Dad (I think it’s a man-thing), but the constant channel flipping is scrambling my brain a little. It’s like we’ve invented the new game of baske-hockey. The announcers really don’t sound all that different, but the squeaky sneakers are definitely different than hockey skates. (Score so far: shorts: same length for hockey and basketball; broadcasters: closer to a heart attack than seems necessary; bad commentating: he’s not only in the flow, he’s playing swimmingly—could be for basketball or hockey.)

Dad is (unsurprisingly) commenting on the games, the refereeing, and the sportscasting. The only thing I haven’t heard him talk about is fashion statement of the uniforms. (Score so far: Uniforms: un-evaluated; players: not playing up to in-house standards: officials: need you even ask?)

In other sporting news, I’ve been creating chaos in the kitchen, but so far I haven’t burned anything. (Score so far: successes: 1; disasters: 1.)

Spring break has started here. This is good news for Pi who is still healing. Unfortunately, the freezer seems to be warming up along with the weather. (Score so far: crocuses: happily blooming; appliances: negative 5 b’zillion; Booker: doesn’t like walking in the rain.)

No big plans for the week, although I am hoping to have more successes than overt failures in the kitchen. (Score: TBD.)

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

When little kids play futbol (or football or any sport for that matter) they pretend to be big stars of the game. They hit the winning home run, they save the impossible-to-save goal, they kick the winning PAT with 1 second left in the game.

They don’t practice being squashed at the bottom of a pile of larger than life humans who bench press large buildings as a warmup. Rarely do they argue about who gets to be the player who misses the last second basketball shot. Almost never do they want to be the one to run all the way down the field just to turn around and run back.

If you were to wave a magic wand for a group of adult-type spectators, they would all want to be in the same playing situation they practiced when they were little. They would want to be the one hitting the last second three point shot, leaping to save the incredible goal, diving to catch the game winning touch down, perfectly placing the ball in the top left of the goal.

Apparently, there is a company Down Under who has missed the concept entirely. According to Mashable, the telecommunications company Foxtel “claims to have created a shirt that uses wearable technology to let you experience some of the physical sensations that athletes on the field are having. Those include pressure (to mimic a thumping heart), impact, despair (“the sinking feeling of every costly mistake”), exhaustion and adrenalin.”

I do not need a shirt to experience exhaustion–I do that daily. Despair and adrenalin? Every time I burn dinner. Pressure? I’ve got enough stress as it is, thank you.

So I’m not sure I see the point of the shirt. But I’m sure there are fans who will ante up and enjoy every punch and fall.

Note to the developers: IMHO, it will not be necessary to add smell-o-vision to the shirt. We know the smell of stinky man-sweat and it will not go nicely with our beverages and snacks.

What will they think of next?

Love, Mom