Dear Kid,

The baby has been very chatty lately.

Me: Come on, Puppy
Puppy: Shhhhhh….
Me: Excuse me?
Puppy: There’s something over there
Me: There is?
Puppy: I think it’s a moose
Me: It’s not a moose
Puppy: It might be
Me: There are no moose in this area
Puppy: I’ll go check it out
Me: You’ll stay right here
Puppy: Dang leash

Puppy: MOMMY, MOMMY, MOMMY, YOU’RE HOME!! I’M SOOOO HAPPY!! I’LL GO GET MY TOY!
Me: Hi, baby
Puppy: LOOK, MY TOY!! AND I’M RUNNING AROUND BECAUSE I’M SO HAPPY YOU’RE HOME!! I’M…wait a minute…you smell like cat. You smell like Two Cats
Me: Well, the people we were visiting had two cats
Puppy: Just wanted to be sure you knew I knew
Me: I know
Puppy: Ok. I’m still happy you’re home
Me: I’m happy to see you, too, baby.

Puppy: Scratch more
Me: I’m going to take a break now
Puppy: Scratch more
Me: I’ve been scratching for a long time
Puppy: Scratch more
Me: I love you, but I’m taking a break now
Puppy: I’ll be here when you’re ready to scratch more

Puppy: What are you doing?
Me: I’m eating lunch
Puppy: I want lunch
Me: Puppies don’t get lunch
Puppy: I like lunch
Me: You like any food, any time
Puppy: Right, so I would like lunch
Me: No lunch for Puppies
Puppy: Do not underestimate the power of the stare
Me: You can stare all you like, no lunch for you
Puppy: I have got to practice my stare…

Puppy: I have very special poop
Me: You do?
Puppy: Yes. I know because you pick it up and put it in the Special Poop Container
Me: The garbage can?
Puppy: And then the big truck comes and takes it to the Poop Museum. I have special poop
Me: Oh, puppy. Everything about you is special
Puppy: Does your poop go to the Poop Museum?

Puppy: What are you drinking?
Me: Soda
Puppy: Can I have some?
Me: No
Puppy: Why?
Me: Soda isn’t good for puppies
Puppy: Is soda good for you?

Puppy: Mommy!
Me: Yes, sweetie
Puppy: I love you.
Me: I love you too, sweetie pie.

Love, Mom

For more puppy conversations, check out Spring Puppy Conversations, New Puppy Conversations, Winter WonderPuppy | Baby, It’s Cold Outside, More Puppy Conversations

Dear Kid,

We have a new refrigerator. This is very nice as the old one was really on its last legs (by which I mean it was a large unattractive piece of art in our kitchen that was slightly cooler than the sun). It’s nice to be able to get a yogurt without walking to the basement.

The new refrigerator is white (check), it fits in the refrigerator space (check), it has a super clean handle (I love new appliances), and it is considerably smaller than our old one (what, what?).

As you may recall, Dad and I had more than a few several many conversations about getting a new refrigerator, most of which I wanted nothing to do with. I made my preference to be left out of the decision-making process clear by singing “Don’t care” in several keys. Because I wanted nothing to do with choosing a refrigerator (other than “white, fits, and makes you happy”), I have absolutely no right to complain. And I’m not complain at all. I am merely Stating Fact.

Several of the conversations we (only sort of) had were about the size of the refrigerator. As in Dad saying, “We don’t want a smaller refrigerator, right?” and me saying, “Right.” So you would think we wouldn’t have a smaller refrigerator. But we do.

Dad swears our new frig is exactly the same size as the old one. And if by “exactly” he means “not at all” then he’s absolutely correct. Any other definition and not so much.

In fact, as Pi and I see it, there is not a single interior dimension in which this lovely white refrigerator with the sparkling clean handle (enjoy it while it lasts) is not smaller. In most cases, considerably smaller.

I have not spoken with Dad about this. I do not intend to speak to Dad about this (other than to confirm that Pi was correct in her assessment of the size–at her request). I intend to enjoy my white refrigerator and all its weird lighting (yeah, the light is weird) and its smaller interior for the next 15 years or so.

This is one of those rare cases where I am Going to Keep My Mouth Shut.

Don’t bother pointing out that I am talking about it here. Dad doesn’t read the blog. Apparently me in real life is all the me he can handle.

Love, Mom and the New Appliance Department

Dear Kid,

Last night for dinner, I had half a pouch of mini Oreos, a packet of Belvita, some chips, and two diet Dr. Peppers. Why such a gourmet feast? We were driving through the mountains of South Carolina, Tennessee, and Kentucky.

Do you know what mountains means? It means no internet, no cell service, no radio, and no restaurants. In fact, there were several questions about car travel that interested me and (being the kind of Mom I am) I decided to investigate.

I contacted OFFAL (Official Food Fans and Lumberjacks) to inquire about the lack of healthy food and why travelers tend to eat so much junk. According to their tireless research efforts, it turns out that Pilot Travel Centers do not serve grilled salmon.

I then called DRIVER (Drivers and Riders In Vehicles Exercising Regularly). They encourage their members to stay in shape by doing isometrics (I tried it. Not bad.). Sit-ups are not recommended in moving vehicles and they assured me it is not possible to get cardio done while traveling in a car.

I was also curious as to why I couldn’t get the song “On Our Way to Grandpa’s Farm” out of my head. Singers Harmonizing InterRelational Acoustics (SHIRA) had no idea, but they happily joined in a rousing chorus (followed by a verse in barbershop harmony).

The National Association of Parents (NAP) was able to conclusively confirm that moving vehicles encourage sleeping, and my own little eyes confirmed that gasoline is about $.75/gallon cheaper in the Carolinas than in Ohio.

Now you know.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

In the beginning the earth was flat and devoid of cake. Since it was before the world was round, you know it was a long time ago.

Then cake was invented. Just like the world, the first cakes were flattish because no one remembered to buy baking powder. We know that cakes were flat because the Greeks called them “plakous” which means flat (really and truly). In those days, cakes generally had nuts and fruits and were sweetened with honey.

Once people started exploring (sometimes going all the way to the corner by themselves), bakers began making fruitcakes and gingerbread because they lasted a long time. Many even lasted until the 20^th century.

Then someone invented ovens and someone else learned how to refine sugar and – ta da! – cake.

Cake ingredients were expensive so cakes were reserved for special occasions. If you didn’t have a lot of money, cake occasions might occur once or twice a year. If you were rich, you might celebrate special occasions (o-cake-sions) like Tuesday.

It wasn’t until the 21^st Century (now) that the ultimate 16 layer cake was invented. That much cake is the definitive illustration of having your cake and eating it too.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

When we first moved to Cincinnati, we had to purchase a refrigerator. That was a task I was delighted to leave to Dad.

I was very clear about what I did and didn’t want. I wanted the biggest refrigerator that would fit in the space. I didn’t want to be involved in the decision. I knew Dad would want to be sure we had an efficient unit (remember this was 17 years ago, so they weren’t all super efficient).

Dad took his refrigeration responsibility very seriously. He researched, he measured, he measured again. Did I mention the measuring?

On the day we moved into our house (that’s a story for another day), the refrigerator was delivered. Two strong men wheeled it into the kitchen, stripped all the packaging, and slid the refrigerator right into its place. It was perfect. There was about ¼ inch of extra space between the top of the refrigerator and the cabinets. Could not have been better. Yippee!

About half an hour later, we opened the ‘frig door and discovered a problem. The door only opened part way. The kitchen island prevented it from opening fully.

Dad had measured every dimension—except the door swing, because who woulda thunk it would be a problem? Well, probably lots of people, but not us.

The next morning we had the great joy of going back to the store to explain the problem and exchange the refrigerator. Which the store did without issue. Apparently, we were not the first people with this particular bit of brilliance.

For the last 17 years (or so) the ‘frig has done its job. It’s kept food cold (colder in the freezer). It’s housed birthday cake, leftovers, Caffeine Free Diet Coke (trés importante). It’s held pictures, artwork, schedules, recipes, and bills.

And it has finally reached the end of its days. Which means it’s time to find another refrigerator. Which is what tomorrow’s blog is about.

See ya’ tomorrow. Stay cool, dude.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

A year ago, I wrote a really good letter to you about Memorial Day. Since I can’t top it for saying the important stuff about the day (you should feel free to go back and re-read it), I am moving on to the second most important part of the day.

According to the Weber Grill People, ¾ of the US population will be grilling this weekend. What will they be eating? Hamburgers, chicken, and steak. Which brings us to today’s topic: hot dogs.

Fact: Tofu hot dogs are really pretty bad. I know this because I had them for dinner last night, and—to be clear—they aren’t fooling anyone.

July is National Hot Dog Month (which explains why I’m talking about them in May). The big hot dog party is July 4^th. Or any handy baseball game.

Hot dogs were actually invented in 1484 in Franfurt, Germany. The word frankfurter comes from the German “frank” as in “dude who eats a lot” and “furter” meaning “baseball food.”

7-Eleven sells 100 million hot dogs annually. I have no words.

The average American eats 50 hot dogs each year. The kids at the Sweet 16 did not hold up their end of the average.

Hot dogs were the first food eaten on the moon. Still no words.

In 1996, the Sara Lee Corporation created what was then the world’s longest hot dog in honor of the Olympics. It was 1,996 feet of hot dog-ness, but didn’t set a world record because the bun was not made in one piece. One piece bun-making is the tricky part. The current record holding hot dog was made in 2011, measuring 203.8m (668 feet). It was a big deal for people who care about those sort of things.

The most expensive hot dog I could find information about is the “Haute Dog” at Serendipity 3. That puppy is grilled up and served with white truffle oil then topped with duck foie gras and truffle butter, for the low, low price of $69 each. Somehow that seems to smack of the opposite of hot-dog-ness.

I am not going to mention hot dog eating contests because, well, because I’m me and I’m following the First Rule of DearKidLoveMom: if you can’t say something nice, be funny; and if you can’t be funny, shut up. Shutting up.

In between bites of hot dog, hamburger, or peanut butter and jelly, I hope everyone will take a few minutes to remember those who died in the service of our country. We remember and salute you.

Love, Mom