Dear Kid,

For some, today is a day of rest. For me, today is a day of Doing.

Puppy: I shall take care of the Very Important Napping

It will not surprise you to learn I have a List and that it is not a short List. Nor will it surprise you to learn that I am still adding to the List.

Puppy: I have a list. It says “Nap, Eat, Play”

Dad and Pi are off at soccer tryouts and I am determined to Get Things Accomplished.

Puppy: You have too much energy

One of the things I hope to get done today is fix DearKidLoveMom. When we moved to our new hosting service, about two weeks’ worth of blogs fled into cyberspace. I hope to get them reposted today. This probably means they’ll show up in your email which means that you can either efficiently clean out your inbox or re-read them because you weren’t very awake the first time they came through.

Puppy: Ridiculous

In case you were wondering what else happened on June 13, I am delighted to tell you that June 13, 1966 was when the Miranda Rights were established. These days everyone knows about Miranda because we all watch enough episodes of Law & Order to have them memorized. But back then it was new and novel.

Also on this day in 323, Alexander the Great died. He was a very interesting…

Puppy: No one cares

Me: You have the right to remain silent too

Have a great day, kiddo.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Once upon a time life was easy.

That time was 6 years ago on a Tuesday morning from 8:57am to 8:58am.

Easy didn’t last very long.

Which isn’t to say that life is hard.

We have it pretty good compared to most of the world. We have enough to eat, we have a place to sleep, we have indoor plumbing, and we have NCIS.

But we have plenty of first world problems.

We have restaurants to choose from at lunch, we have multiple flavors of coffee to decide between, we have to learn new phrases like on fleek, we have more jewelry than we can wear at once, and we have The Royals (yes, it’s still awful, and yes, I keep watching).

Once you finish exams this week, you’ll be home. This is FAN-FREAKING-TASTIC for a whole variety of reasons. It also brings us one more first world problem.

Two cars, four drivers, 19 places to go.

Prepare to compromise.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Dad killed the TV.

Before you freak out, let me assure you that the murder victim was the old TV upstairs not the studly new TV in the family room.

How do I know it was murdered? Because it won’t turn on.

How do I know Dad was the murderer? Because when I fell asleep last night, the TV was happily spewing light and sound in the form of Burn Notice reruns. When I awoke it was off. When I tried to turn it on, all I got was Blank Screen. Since Booker’s not allowed upstairs, it must be Dad’s fault.

I would have made a fantastic forensic scientist.

Bottom line: We are—at least temporarily—a one TV household.

And this one-ness is causing stress and strain. Because there are those of us who would prefer to watch hockey playoffs and those of us who would prefer to watch The Royals. Those of us who would prefer to watch endless games of hockey and those of us who would prefer to watch NCIS. Those of us who would prefer to remain glued to the TV for any snippet of hockey-ness and those of us who would prefer to watch Almost Anything Else.

And right now those Thoses and the these Thoses can’t both have their way.

(If you’re going to mention DVR-ing or watching on computers, forget it. We’re old, I work on the computer while I watch TV, and I’m of the I-want-to-watch-it-now-not-later contingent.)

Bottom line: We are going to acquire a new TV.

Before you freak out, let me assure you it will not be nearly as studly as the one in the family room. On the other hand it will not be as archaic as the dead one.

I will be the one selecting the TV. Which means it will be pretty. And it will be what I want.

And it will probably be sitting in a box waiting for you to hook it up when you get home from school.

EXCEPT

Except that Dad came upstairs and reset the cable box–and the dead TV came back to life.

I feel pretty stupid for not having thought of that.

And I don’t get to buy a new TV.

Yet.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Mankind (I’m a generalist when it comes to language. If you’re offended, we can have that discussion another day) has long known that there is something mystically magical (in a not entirely good way) about laundry.

Everyone knows about the Amazing Disappearing Sock in the Dryer conundrum. This has existed since people washed their socks in the river, draped them over bushes to dry, went down to a friend’s hut to discuss what was trending on the drums, and came back to discover one sock gone. Just gone. Ancient people eventually realized this was due to a syndrome in which mastodons often got a cold nose and stole socks to wear as nose cozies. One of the only people not at all fazed by disappearing socks is Pi, who purposefully wears mis-matched socks almost all the time (notable exception: during a soccer game) thus thumbing (or toeing) her nose at cold-nosed mastodons.

Everyone also knows of the Magic Stain Appearance Trick, in which stains that were not present prior to washing show up during folding. Sneaky things, those stains. A stain that appears during washing is a special kind of stain and there is almost nothing you can do to get it out. Learn to pretend you spilled something on your clothes 10 minutes ago and haven’t had time to get back to the dorm and change–or get rid of said garment.

I’m pretty sure the rules that govern most of the planet are suspended in the laundry room. Something to do with laundry wards and ancient laundry curses is my guess.

Have you ever noticed that you can put all the laundry in the machine, leave to go watch an important episode of NCIS: L.A., and when you come back to move the laundry to the dryer the hamper is full again?

Magic. Also your sister’s knack for hoarding laundry until her room is about to be declared a disaster area–then three months’ worth of laundry tumbles down the chute in a “whump.” And by “three months’ worth of laundry” I mean what she wore yesterday and the day before.

Laundry also has a way of consuming the things you most want to wear.

On the rare occasions when I wake up confident about the Right Clothes for the day, I inevitably discover that the particular outfit I have in mind is waiting for a wash to be done. This of course leads to me standing in my closet mulling–and rejecting–everything in sight.

In some ways this is not totally horrible as I spend most morning staring at my closet wondering why it is full of things I don’t want to wear. So I’m used to it. But it would be nice to have a break occasionally.

Off to get the laundry started.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

It is 4-something in the morning and I seem to have forgotten how to sleep. Or possibly I’ve just thrown my sleep cycle completely out of whack. Either way, everyone with any sense is asleep and I sit here with a nice cup of tea (have you ever noticed that no one ever sits down with a bad cup of tea?), in the peace and quiet of pre-dawn, writing to you.

There are lots of tea snobs in the world. Fortunately, I am not one of them. Maybe I’ve just never had a truly wonderful cup of tea, or maybe I have mediocre taste buds. Probably both. I am a sucker for fun, flavored tea which I know would shock most tea connoisseurs into a stunned silence. Then again, I am not aware of ever having met a true tea snob so I could be making the whole thing up. Love the episode of NCIS where Ducky turns down a cup of tea from Gibbs saying it is made from “tea leaf dust” and later buys him the appropriate accoutrements for “proper” tea making. I’m pretty sure I own everything necessary for a “proper” cup of tea (tea pot, loose tea leaves, tea strainer). I’m darn sure I’ve never used them. Your mother is a failure when it comes to tea-snobbery.

His Fuzziness is snoring. Truly a wonderful noise. I wish I could bottle it and pull it out whenever I need a fuzzy-induced smile. I don’t think it would be the same to record it. I think there is something special about knowing he’s right there that makes the snoring so precious. Thoughts? (I know, I know. But did I mention the hour of the morning?)

Hoping you are not yet up. Hoping even more you are not still up. Either way, have a great day–and please get  some sleep for both of us.

Love, Mom