Dear Kid,

No, I did not make this up. It certainly sounds like something I might have made up, so I can understand the confusion.

Today is the day all college students revere above all others. (OK, OK, above all others except International Beer Day and Last Day of Exams Day.)

It is Festival of Sleep Day.

As I may have mentioned once or twice or two thousand times, sleep is important. It helps rejuvenate all those lovely brain cells and freshen those skin cells. It gives the inside of your eyelids something to do. It gives your dreams time to show up. And most importantly, it keeps you from turning into a zombie.

Zombie, bad.

Sleep, good.

I suggest celebrating with a nap. (Or the proverbial “I’m just resting my eyes.”)

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

We’ve launched our way into 2018 with all the other things that make the first day of the year The First Day of the Year, like toasts and gestures and brownies and champagne and brunch and parades and football and hockey.

And Judgement.

Yes, judgement.

You’d think we could get past the first day of the year without judgement. But you’d be wrong.

The Puppy was clear.

Puppy: You’ve been Out.
Me: Yes, we went to New Year’s Brunch. Just like every year.
Puppy: And you didn’t take me.
Me: You’ve never been invited to this particular gathering.
Puppy: But there was Another Dog there.
Me: Yes….
Puppy: A dog I’ve never smelled before.
Me: Yes….
Puppy: And you snuggled!
Me: Again, true.

The Puppy gives me a look that combines disappointment, judgement, regret, pitifulness, long suffering, martyrdom, and rebuke.

Puppy: Did you have a good time?
Me: Yes, it was lovely. We really enjoyed the company, and the dog was very, very sweet.
Puppy: You probably ate while you were there didn’t you?
Me: Yes, it was delicious.
Puppy: And you didn’t bring me any, did you?
Me: Well, they didn’t serve puppy food. Just people food.
Puppy: I like people food.
Me: This was not food we would have shared with you.

The Puppy doubles down on The Look.

And we’re only on Day 1.

Sigh.

Love, Mom

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Dear Kid,

Did you blink? 2017 was here and gone in an instant that felt like a decade. Each minute dragged on and on yet as a whole the year whooshed by.

I will leave it to others (like the great historian Dave Barry) to remember enough of what went on in 2017 to write year-end summaries and reviews.

I’m looking forward.

Forward to friends having healthy babies and sending me videos of babies laughing (not kidding—I expect a ton of happy baby videos, L).

Forward to weddings and anniversaries and birthday celebrations. And to spending time with the people celebrating them.

Forward to spending time with friends I haven’t seen for a while.

Forward to trips and forward to staying home.

Forward to reaching new levels in Word Cookie (it’s my new addiction—don’t judge).

Forward to an even bigger and better Cincinnati Coffee Festival. (Is that Possible? Yes—just wait).

Forward to the Olympics and Olympic achievements by all.

Forward to listening to the Puppy snore. (Cutest noise in the world.)

Forward to new adventures and comforting sameness.

Forward to spring, and summer, and fall (and not so much winter).

Forward to sharing others’ joys and finding some of my own.

Forward (with highly mixed feelings) to graduations and new starts.

Happy 2018.

Love, Mom

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 Christmas.

Which for some people means presents and Yule Logs. For others, it means movies and Chinese food. And for still others, it means working (police, firefighters, doctors, nurses, snow plowers, and all those who keep us safe). And for still others of us it means family and football (watching people work and play).

However you spend today, it’s worth remembering that there is joy and silliness in the world. Here’s my fave new holiday fun.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Have you heard about this trend? Personally, I’m horrified, but apparently reindeer boob is an accepted thing.

In case you’re not as hip as I am, Allure Magazine says

…reindeer boob entails cutting a hole in your sweater to allow for the flaunting of a boob of your choice and then putting googly eyes, antlers, and a red nose on said boob so it resembles a reindeer. 

Here’s the link if you need more info: https://www.allure.com/story/reindeer-boob

I really couldn’t believe women were really decorating their exposed boobs and going out in public, but sadly I was wrong.

There is absolutely nothing good about this fad. Nothing. Possibly even less than nothing.

Here we are in an era where women are reporting real issues and struggling to be taken seriously, and somehow someone decided it’s acceptable to walk around with a boob hanging out? Imo, it’s tacky and kind of slutty. Just because you’ve added a pasty nose and probably can’t get arrested for indecent exposure doesn’t make it OK.

Not only is it generally not acceptable, it’s even worse when the aforementioned fad participants post photos on social media. Seriously, women, once it’s on the internet, it’s ALWAYS on the internet.

Stick with ugly sweaters and writing letters to Santa.

Love, Mom