Dear Kid,

In other backyard news, I have completed the Great Birdfeeder Experiment.

I am a terrible hostess in that I don’t keep the birdfeeders full during the winter. Mostly because it’s COLD out there and I believe the birds should be in Florida or someplace with indoor heating.

It’s not that I’m lazy-ha! I laugh at lazy. I just like being warm more than I like being, well, cold.

And as your father decided a long time ago that the birdfeeders were my responsibility (and as the Puppy is far too short to be of help filling them) they go unfilled during the cold. And the rain. And other unpleasant weather conditions.

Yesterday I finally filled them up.

That was not the experiment.

The experiment was waiting to see how long it would take anyone (and by “anyone” I mean wildlife) to recognize that the buffet was once again fully stocked.

The squirrels barely waited until I’d walked away to start scavenging. (I’m not the world’s neatest birdfeeder-filler so there was plenty for them to enjoy.)

The rabbit hopped right by. Apparently “birdseed” is not on the rabbit menu.

I thought a cardinal would be the first one to nibble. I thought this because it sat, staring at the birdfeeder for a long, red moment. Eventually he flew off, sans seed.

About an hour after filling, a mourning dove tucked in for some grub.

Was the experiment a success? Absolutely. I watched from inside (while drinking a Diet Coke) as birds and squirrels amused me.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

(Somehow, MFtI forgot to publish this this morning.)

Way back when you were in Jr High (I think it was when you were in Jr High), you or Pi (or possibly both of you) used a simulation software that looked at a prairie system. As I recall, there were wolves who ate rabbits who ate the tall grass which hid the wolves. And each group reproduced and consumed at a given rate so the idea was to find the right amount of grass, rabbits, and wolves where each of the populations would remain (more or less) constant.

I’m sure there was an important lesson in there besides “wolves eat rabbits” and “look how fast this thing calculates” but I don’t remember what the Important Lesson was. I hope you do. I have great faith that you gained something from our educational system.

The point is that we have something similar happening in our very own backyard.

You remember we had a fox more or less take a part-time seasonal home here this spring?

And you remember that the Puppy dug up a rabbit’s nest? (Maybe I didn’t tell you about that. He found the nest. He was very proud of himself. We quickly removed him and re-covered the rabbits.)

Sometime after the Puppy made friends with un-developed rabbits, we’re pretty sure the fox made dinner of them. And it’s possible that the tall grass (which is more not-grass than grass) was enough to hide him, but only if you were already on the other side of the house.

Yesterday, much to my joy, I saw a rabbit hoppity-ing through the backyard, stopping to eat the not-exactly-grass that grows where lawn should be.

I was about to celebrate our backyard as the perfectly balanced system when I realized I haven’t seen the fox in a while. Probably it moved on.

But possibly the rabbit studied Krav Maga.

In which case we’re going to have a lot of rabbits this summer…

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

This is the World’s Worst Poem about the ‘Quils (both Night and Day). If you squint, it mostly rhymes. There is pretty much nothing you can do to make it scan except pretend it’s free verse. Even then it’s pretty bad. I’m blaming my cold.

Ode to the ‘Quils

by Mom

I lie awake, my nose all stuffed
The tissue box has since been Puff’d
The garbage pail ain’t big enough(d)
Because I have A Cold.

The only thing to help me sleep
Throughout the night I’m in a heap
My snores like brontosauri creep
Being sick is getting old.

Then through the day, to stay awake
I prop my eyelids with a stake
And at my desk, the work I fake
Because having a cold is really no fun at all.

The chicken soup is mighty fine
And that is just how I will dine
It’s nice and hot and so sublime
At least I think it is because I can’t taste anything.

But chicken soup alone won’t do
And so I have to drink the goo
I’ll down it in a gulp or two
Because it tastes really bad with chicken soup.

Nothing in this goop tastes real
But who cares if it helps me heal
And “icky” matches how I feel
And I’d really rather be healthy at this point.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

You know what’s worse than your kid having a cold and not being around to bring the child chicken soup and Nyquil?

Being the child with a cold and no one bringing you chicken soup and Nyquil.

At the moment, I am that child.

To be fair, Dad bought the Nyquil. But I had to cook a chicken and then make my own soup.

While I am getting better, I still have a $#&$%!!!! cold.

Who would think one little nose could hold so much stuff?

Do you know what food tastes like with a cold? Neither do I. Because you pretty much can’t taste anything with a cold.

I am one whiney mamma.

What’s worse, I have no creativity. It’s gone. Used up. Probably all that creative energy is going toward new ways of being pathetic.

Fortunately, my cold is coming to an end.

I know this because grandma says that if a you get over a cold quickly it will take a week and half, but if it takes a long time it will last about 10 days. And I’m somewhere around Day 8.

Have you ever noticed that it’s really hard to count the number of days you’ve had a cold? You start out figuring that you’re just fighting a cold, then you lose the fight but you’re not sure if you should count the “fighting” days or not.

I’m going to take a nap.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Do you know what was happening 5 years ago today? DearKidLoveMom was being launched.

That’s not entirely accurate. I’d written a couple of posts earlier in April, but the 16^th was the first day of continuous posting.

Some of the letters have been fun to write; some have been painful (most of those never got published). Some were super easy to write; others refused to take shape no matter how much I stared at a blank screen. Some were really good; others got less stellar reviews.

Now, approximately 1,733 letters later, you are approaching graduation and I am approaching a crossroads (more of a starfish-roads): Has DKLM reached its natural end? Do I keep writing? Do we move in a somewhat different direction? Or schedule? And what about Naomi? (You’re probably not old enough to get that obscure reference. The Electric Company was a show that was sort of the graduate level of Sesame Street. There was a segment on Electric Company that was a play on a soap opera which always ended with the question [that was in no way related to anything] “And what about Naomi?”])

So what do you think? Opinions, thoughts, comments, brilliant insights, and weird puns welcome.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I’m back in an airport. This time Newark, NJ. I tell you this not because I think you will be jealous (although you are, right?) but because you should know I’m now engaged.

I got to the airport really early as I’d been warned about the horrors of waiting in liiiiiiiiiiine for Newark airport security. Also because I couldn’t sleep so it was a choice between hanging around the room watching homes I’ll never buy in Hawaii (HGTV really dangles some amazing things) or going to the airport and sitting in the world’s most uncomfortable seat.

It was a toss up.

Since I got to the airport 14 hours and 32 minutes before they were scheduled to board our plane, I breezed through security even though I didn’t have the handy dandy TSA precheck designation.

To clarify, I breezed through the part where they check ID. Despite my undercaffeinated state. I considered this an excellent omen.

Getting through the xray-security part was a little slower, but still NBD. I had to take off my shoes, but I’d cleverly worn boots that came off easily. No sweat. The TSA agent and I exchanged hair compliments as I waited for my stuff to go through the conveyor belt machine.

“Step right here, ma’am. Put your glasses on. On. Put your glasses on please.” Apparently, residing on top of my head is not “on.” I think I can be forgiven my confusion. “Put your hands over your head. Thank you.”

Machine noises.

“Please stand right there ma’am.” He pointed to a mat with two yellow footprints a few steps away from the machine.

Now, on the flight here, I set the scanner off and an agent felt up my left bicep before sending me on my way, so I didn’t worry.

This time was different.

The agent showed me the image. Basically everything except my eyelashes set off the machine. The image was a mass of yellow blocks. The agent explained she’d have to pat me down. Ok. She asked if I wanted a private room. (That should have been a clue about the up close and personal nature of what was about to happen.) Afterward, instead of offering me a cigarette, she swabbed her gloves and my hands to check for nasty residue. There wasn’t any.

I didn’t get a ring, but I’m pretty sure we’re engaged after that intimate an encounter.

Speculation from the agents standing around dropping ones onto the floor was that the sparkly threads in my sweater set off the alarms.

Good to know.

Love, Mom