Dear Kid,

There is dew on the grass this morning.

And it is cold.

I discovered this because I was wearing flip flops to walk the Puppy this morning and he decided to venture onto the grass (apparently the dew didn’t bother him at all).

Since I didn’t have much choice in the matter (given the business he took care of on said grass), I took an innocent step forward.

Let me preface this by saying I hadn’t had any coffee yet.

My eyes flew open a few heartbeats above the speed of light. The shock went right through my sleep-addled brain straight to the WTH section without stopping in any of the rational thought centers. (Yes, it’s a given that Rational Thought Centers are easy to avoid in my brain, but still.)

Dew looks so fresh, inviting, and innocent. This of course is patently false advertising. Dew is actually zillions of teeny little droplets of water lurking with evil intent to shock the unwary into awake-ness. They work together having each agreed to the latest union terms.

It’s not supposed to be cold on flip-flop days.

Clearly, this is a failure on the part of Mother Nature, not any kind of misjudgment regarding my footwear.

Just so we’re clear.

Love, Mom

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,

Have I told you how much I love my Fitbit?

Not only is it purple (win!), and data-ful (win!), and mine (win! win!), it has encouraged me to make some small but important changes in my life.

For example, I now go to either the first or third floor to use the restroom (I work on the 2^nd floor). Not only does this give me all those lovely extra steps (win!), I get an extra flight of stairs (win! win!) each time I have to pee.

Between my bladder (tiny) and my coffee habit (large), this has added an extra 1,000 steps a day to my step count which amounts to (exactly) 11.5 calories.

If I had taken the same amount of time to sit, Jabba-the-Hutt-like, I would only have burned 10.2 calories, so you can see how this is changing my waistline dramatically.

Not only am I bounding (gazelle-like) up the stairs, I’ve taken to walking through this door rather than that door on my way to the restroom. By taking this door, I add 27 steps (win!) and I walk right by the candy bowl (it would be rude not to help myself to a piece [or two] as I walk by).

So by becoming more fit I have gained 6 pounds, worn out three pairs of shoes, and developed a small but insistent blister on my left foot.

You might think I blame my Fitbit. But I don’t. Not at all.

Because it’s purple (win!).

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Yesterday, while taking the Puppy for his morning walk, I discovered that my right rainboot leaks.

Pinkie toe: Um, damp over here.
Me: Quiet. It’s too early for talking toes.
Pinkie toe: Taking on water over here.
The rest of my toes sniggered. No one is nice that early in the morning.
Puppy: I’m nice
Me: True
Middle toe: Ugh, it’s wet in here.
Pointer toe: Start bailing! Ship to shore: SOT!
Me: What?
Pointer toe: Save Our Toes!
Me: Oh, goodness.
Puppy: I have to sniff.
Pinkie toe: Puddle astern!!
Big toe: Man the lifeboats! Scuttle the sock drawer!
Pointer toe: Bail! Bail!
Me: I can’t believe this.
Puppy: I can’t believe you’re not sniffing.
Middle toe: Is it bath time?
Pointer toe: Every toe to their stations!
Fourth toe: Haven’t you noticed that we’re connected?
Pointer toe: Don your SCUBA gear!
Big toe: Did someone actually plan for me to get wet?
Pinkie toe: I thought the point of boots was for us to stay dry?
Fourth toe: You can’t believe every pair of shoes you talk to.
Pointer toe: Heave to! Lower the aft sails! Look lively!
Big toe: There ought to be some sort of celebration before we drown.
Me: There will not be any drowning today.
Middle toe: We could sing.
Me: There will not be any singing before I’ve had coffee.
Fourth toe: I hope there are dry towels at home.
Pointer toe: Raise the jib! Land ho! Keep bailing!
Me: I liked it better when you guys were dry and quiet.
Toes (in unison): So did we!
Puppy: Hey, it’s raining! I’m wet!
Pinkie toe: No one ever listens until it’s too late.
Puppy: Heading for home and dryness!
Toes: Glub. Glub.
Me: The day can only get better, right?

Love, Mom

P.S. Thanks for the title Pi!

Dear Kid,

I am now officially a member of the Fitbit world.

Since I am new to Fitbit-ness, I am still trying to figure out how it works.

And I have a LOT of questions.

Like:

How does the Fitbit calculate calories burned when snuggling the Puppy? It can take a lot of energy to absorb all that love. Does Fitbit know that?

Can a Fitbit account for the difference between calories (and by “calories” I mean “chocolate”) eaten in annoyance versus calories eaten for pleasure versus calories eaten for sustenance? Clearly, they are not all the same, but I don’t know if Fitbit is tracking my consumption correctly.

Does my Fitbit measure running on a treadmill, running on the track, and running late at the same rate?

Is there a different formula for walking in sneakers versus walking in 4 inch stilettos? There should be. Especially if the stilettos have scrunchy toes.

How does a Fitbit know if I’m biking? My arms aren’t moving (usually) and my feet are just going round and round. Do I still get credit?

How does the Fitbit measure the impact of the crazy, sadistic physical therapy exercises? (And by “exercises” I mean whatever gadget they choose to use to shove my leg muscles around.) I would assume there is a lot of energy being burned there, what with all the screaming (mine) and yelling (also mine).

What about pushups or leg curls? How do I tell my Fitbit to count that kind of exercise?

Or gum chewing? How does the Fitbit account for the incredible number of calories I burn chomping on Trident?

And thinking. Thinking burns a lot of, well, a lot of something. For instance, how does the Fitbit tell the difference between sitting and watching bad reality TV (no effort) and sitting and contemplating bad reality TV (a great deal of effort)?

These are important questions. I hope someone has correspondingly important answers.

Love, Mom