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,

Have you been watching The Royals? Probably not, because you’ve probably been studying non-stop. I’m sure it’s not because you’ve been watching basketball, even if we are mid-March Madness in April.

I have now watched three episodes, which should be enough to make me an expert.

My Opinion: Stick with the basketball. I mean studying.

The Royals is not a great show. It doesn’t even manage to be a good show, although I keep watching and waiting for the fairy godmother of writing to fling her wand in and fix things.

I even went so far as to read a few reviews about it to see if I’d missed something. The only thing I missed was a great line written by Vicki Hyman of NJ Advance Media for NJ.com. Talking about the clothing on the show she wrote, “…outrageous fashions (there is hardly a frock that isn’t gynecological in nature)…”

I keep expecting The Royals to somehow turn into something fab. But it doesn’t. Unfortunately, I appear to be captivated, and turn from reruns of House and CSI to The Royals on Sunday evenings like the loyal subject I am.

Unless you are obsessed with outrageous hats at physics-defying angles, stick with schoolwork. I’ll stick with The Royals for a few more episodes and let you know if anything changes enough to disrupt your studying schedule.

Don’t bet on it.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Today is January 11^th.

To you, it is the day to go back to school for second semester. To some people it is the day before Monday.

But to me, it is more than that.

It is the anniversary of the Day I Met Daddy.

You probably know the story. But in case you don’t:

Once upon a time, I didn’t know Daddy. I thought that was OK. The Universe thought otherwise.

Dad’s grandma and my grandma lived in the same complex in Florida and had lots of friends in common. At a luncheon on day, Dad’s grandma was lamenting the fact that her grandson didn’t have a girlfriend. “Rebecca,” said one of the mutual friends, “You have a granddaughter in New York, don’t you?”

Translation: They can both fog a mirror and they live within 1,000 miles of each other—perfect!

Not too long thereafter I received a letter from Grandma saying that this guy would call me. I cleverly rolled my eyes, thanked Grandma politely for the introduction, and ignored the whole thing.

One night, the phone rang.

Let’s get the technology clear. This was in the days before cell phones when one had to get up off the couch and get the phone because it was sitting on the counter. This was in the days of the TV show LA Law (and EVERYONE knew better than to call me on Thursday nights from 10-11pm). This was in the days before the internet carried episodes of shows so one could watch at one’s own convenience.

The phone rang.

I glared at it, wondering who would be idiotic enough to call during LA Law. The phone kept ringing. (This was in the days before caller ID.)

I answered the phone.

Dude was on the other end of the line. He seemed nice even though he seemed to have no clue that he was calling in the middle of LA Law. We talked and it turned out he lived in West Chester which for a Manhattan girl was a Deal Breaker of the Most Serious Variety.

I did my best to get off the line and get back to LA Law. He did not take the hint.

He asked me out. I rolled my eyes, got off the couch, looked at my calendar (paper—this was in the days before PDAs and electronic calendars), and agreed that yes, I would go out with him on Saturday afternoon.

I missed most of LA Law, so it was clear the relationship was doomed.

Friday evening when I got home from work there was a message on the machine (this was in the days when answering machines were completely separate from phones) from BFF Nancy. Nancy (who lived in Boston) was going to be in the area on Saturday and could we get together.

Duh.

I called and left a message on the guy’s machine canceling the date for what was a completely true but completely fake sounding reason.

Then I went out to a party. Because I was that kind of girl.

By the time I got home, there was a message from West Chester guy. Of course he understood and how about the following weekend.

Really? Sigh. Only because I love my grandmother, I thought. (Translation: whatev.)

The following weekend rolled around and (wait for it) I had a cold. A reasonably nasty cold. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for about a decade. But I had this date.

So I took DayQuil (or something like it) and I was ready for Dude to show up January 11^th at 2pm.

In a pattern that hasn’t changed much in lo these many years, Dad was late.

He missed the train and didn’t show up at my apartment until 3pm. I was thrilled with this start. Not.

We went out to an exhibit at the AT&T building (which I remember was pretty cool). He wanted to go out to dinner. My cold and I wanted to go home and die.

And that’s the story of How We Met On January 11^th.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Welcome to the Ides of July and the middle of the summer.

To celebrate, the mosquitoes have declared the entire outdoors is their buffet. And by “entire outdoors” I mean “me.”

To celebrate, the deer have declared the entire garden is their buffet. And by “entire garden” I mean “the beet tops.”

To celebrate, the moles have declared the entire backyard is their buffet. And by “entire backyard” I mean “entire backyard.”

To celebrate, the dust dragons have gone on a procreative rampage. And by “procreative rampage” I mean there are a lot of them.

To celebrate, Booker is shedding. And by “shedding” I mean “losing enough fur to make a whole extra beast.”

To celebrate, the air conditioner is working overtime. As is the icemaker.

To celebrate, American Ninja Warrior is in the city finals. And by “in the city finals” I mean you can pretty much guess what I’m doing on Monday evenings. And Kacy Catenzaro #MightyKacy is the first woman not only to make it to the top of the warped wall but through the entire finals course. In case you have no idea how impressive that is, only 6 men made it the whole way (out of a field of 30) and Kacy is only 5 feet tall. She is about 6 kinds of amazing.

(If you’re looking for me on Tuesday evenings, I’m probably making sure that the judges on America’s Got Talent don’t make any mistakes.)

To celebrate, grills all over the country are cooking delicious meals. And by “all over the country” I mean not in our backyard, because our grill master isn’t home at the moment.

How are you celebrating the middle of the summer?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

It’s March, and for many of us Spring Cleaning is in the air (and by Spring Cleaning is in the Air I mean I am sneezing up a storm as evict Dust Dragons that have been in the house as long as we have).

I know that you guys do a reasonable job of keeping your room hygienic (and by Hygienic I mean the health squad hasn’t condemned the place), but I’m going to go out on a limb here and take a wild guess that none of your electronic devices have been cleaned. Ever.

Fortunately for you, Real Simple magazine had an article about this very subject. Even more fortunately for you, I not only read the article, I have consolidated the important points into this blog. You’re welcome.

Technology Spring Clean Up

Cell Phone

Let’s deal with the most disgusting part first. Your cell phone probably has fecal matter on it. Ewww. How? you ask. Many people take their cell phone into the potty with them. According to scientific data which I just made up, college students are 10 times more likely than their parents to take their cell phones into the bathroom with them. Once in the bathroom, you (eventually) flush which causes gazillions of contaminated droplets to spew out of the toilet, into the air, and go searching for somewhere nice to land. Like your hands and your phone.

Wash your hands.

If your phone happens to claim it’s waterproof and you feel up to testing that theory, wash your phone.

If not, use wipes made for wireless devices. Frequently.

Laptop

You’ve probably been using your hands to type on your laptop. Which would be fine if your hands weren’t covered in dirt and oil and germs, and if other people’s germs weren’t circling in space just waiting to land on your keyboard and spring onto your paws. When you think about it, the world is pretty germ-y.

Do not (repeat do NOT) use glass cleaner on your screen. Not now, not ever. You can use a specialty screen cleaner (if you are loaded with money and time) or a damp cloth (if you are not).

You’re supposed to use Sophisticated UV Wands to clean the keyboard. Since I do not own (or intend to own) such a device, I use a wipey-thing. But that is not Officially Approved so don’t blame me if it doesn’t work. Compressed air is also handy for getting crumbs out of keyboard cracks. Not that any of us would ever eat near our computer.

Remote Control

Another Top Spot on the Ick Patrol. Compressed air can be nifty here too. Then Swipe with a Wipe.

Earbuds

Wipe with a damp cloth that has a little soap on it. Follow up with a damp cloth that does not have soap on it. Dry. Do not even think about contemplating all the disgusting things on your earbuds.

Room Key

OK, it’s not electronic and Real Simple didn’t say a thing about it, but I feel pretty confident guessing it has never been cleaned and needs to be. Fortunately, you don’t have to worry about damaging its touch screen or shorting out its circuits, so just wash the darn thing with soap and water.

Love, Mom