Dear Kid,

Holy Moley, was I wrong.

I thought I had it all figured out.

Having put several seconds of thought together, I decided I knew how I want to die. (No, this is not morbid.)

I decided I want to be 92 and get stepped on by an elephant. Squish. Done. No lingering moments or tubes. And the idea that I’ll be spry enough to be somewhere where a rogue elephant could step on me appeals immensely.

So I got talking to some people about it (at first they thought it was morbid too, but they soon got the point). And someone innocently suggested that I should research death by elephant to see if an elephant has ever stepped on someone to kill them.

Hilarious, I thought. Great topic. Wonderful. Amusing. Adorable even.

Not.

It turns out that execution by elephant was a thing. Particularly in India where (and I quote) “Asian elephants were used to crush, dismember, or torture captives in public executions.” That. Is. Awful.

Elephants are highly trainable, and they were taught both to kill people instantly or to torture them slowly over a long period of time. These trained pachyderms signified (again, I quote) “the ruler’s absolute power and his ability to control wild animals.” Disgusting.

I can’t tell you more about this because this is a horrible, awful way to treat animals. And people.

What I had in mind was much more of the Disney version. Wait, some of their stuff with elephants is pretty ugly too.

What I had in mind was much more of the James Bond version (the old movies). No blood. Nothing horrible. Just me being spry and lively and accidentally stepping under a heffalumps hoof. Maybe while the elephant was tap dancing or something.

In any case, I hereby apologize to all elephants. I will go think about other things.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

We’re off to see the wizard!

Well, we’re off to Cleveland, and the road is likely to be more white than yellow, but the song is in my heart anyway.

Dear Burglars: The Extremely Vicious Dog and Even More Vicious Dog Sitter are watching the house. Also there is nothing there to take except dirty laundry.

Since we’re off to an Exotic Locale, I decided to consult My Friend the Internet to see what interesting things I could learn about Cleveland.

You know the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame is there, but did you know that the phrase “rock and roll” was invented in the early 1950s by a DJ in Cleveland?

Superman was born in Cleveland and potato chips were first mass produced in Cleveland. There is no proven connection between the two. The modern golf ball was invented in Cleveland. So were Life Savers candies. And Chef Boyardee. And the padded bicycle seat. Hard to see which is most important.

Cleveland was named after General Moses Cleaveland, but “Cleaveland” was too long for the masthead of the “Cleveland Advertiser” newspaper so they shortened it to Cleveland. Cleveland was the first city in the world to be fully lit by electricity. The better to read the newspaper and to power the first electric traffic signal. And the first crosswalk button to let pedestrians cross.

There is a statue of a rubber stamp in Willard Park. I must go.

Cleveland has difficulty with major league sports teams. It has lots of talented athletes who come together, done the same uniform, and fail miserably. The Cleveland Spiders hold the record for the worst season in the history of Major League Baseball (but to be fair, who names a team the Spiders?).

There are some weird laws in Cleveland. Like you need a hunting license to catch a mouse. And women can’t wear patent leather shoes in public (someone might be able to see up their dress).

There is a Wyland whale mural (one of the whaling walls) in Cleveland.

This is going to be an exceptional trip.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

Who knew?

Today is International Monkey Day! So grab a banana and let’s celebrate!

Despite their adorableness, monkeys drew the short stick in the language department.

“I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” is not a compliment to uncles. It came out of the Scopes Monkey trial about teaching evolution.

“More fun than a barrel of monkeys” is supposed to refer to something that’s actually fun. But I just can’t see monkeys having fun in a barrel. Especially the ones near the bottom. And who would think to gather that many monkeys just to stuff them in a barrel? Nope, makes no sense.

“A monkey on one’s back” refers to addiction and difficulty in dealing with that burden. Not really a cheerful phrase.

“Monkey see, monkey do” implies monkey does without bothering with the step of “monkey think.” Again, not a compliment.

“Monkey business” refers neither to monkey potty habits nor to the zoo’s profit. It means fooling around, generally with an overtone of something being amiss.

“Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.” Yeah, nothing good happening there.

“Monkeys might fly out of my butt” indicates surprise for the speaker, but probably not nearly as much surprise as the monkeys might feel.

And if you look at the word “monkey” long enough, it definitely looks like you misspelled it.

Poor little dudes.

Hope you have a great International Monkey Day!

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

A hawk in the neighborhood ate one of the chickens.

I can’t believe I just wrote that sentence. People who know me can’t believe I just wrote that sentence.

Even the hawk can’t believe I just wrote that sentence and he or she was in on the deed.

The dead chicken does believe it because A) she’s dead and B) chickens are very gullible creatures.

To be clear, it wasn’t our chicken because we don’t own live poultry. (And the only dead poultry we own come cleaned and packaged from the grocery store.)

But the very idea that I live in a neighborhood where hawks nest and hunt and chickens roam sufficiently free that they become raptor prey is very…what’s the word…um…

Basically, there are no words.

I am not a chicken farmer.

I’m not even a chicken farmer wannabe.

I like the idea of fresh eggs. I think.

Maybe I like the idea of liking the idea of fresh eggs.

I like the idea of meeting an occasional chicken. “Hello, how are you? Can I offer you a handful of grain? So nice to meet you but my very un-farmlike shoes and I have to be going now.”

I have no problem with the hawk chowing down on the chicken (although I’m sure the ex-chicken’s owners objected). Circle of life and all that.

And I rather like that we have a family of hawks living around the corner and screaming at everything. It gives me a sense of nature (even if I worry a bit about the Puppy becoming the lunch entrée one of these days).

I don’t object to the chickens in the neighborhood—I’ve never even met them. Dad tells me they are there. Dad is better at getting to know the people in the neighborhood than I am (apparently he’s better at meeting their livestock as well). I think I’d like to meet a chicken.

Someday.

I wonder what shoes one wears to meet a chicken?

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

I have gotten some of the Best News Ever.

No, I didn’t win the Lottery. That would be amazing considering I didn’t buy a ticket.

I got a letter. From Grandpa. And in the letter was an article from Scientific American which discussed all sorts of things some people think are true but aren’t even close to accurate. Like the Loch Ness monster doesn’t exist (except in ceramic), aliens have never visited earth (except as costumes on Halloween), and the earth is not flat (wait, seriously? People still believe that? What?).

More about people going for fiction over fact another day.

But the Best News Ever (by which I mean “the best news in the last 10 minutes”) is that the idea of having to drink 8 glasses of water every day is hokum (extra points if you get the reference).

Of course you need to get liquid, but liquid comes from all sorts of places, like food and coffee. Food and coffee—two of my favorites! This is awesome.

I think I’ll celebrate by drinking an unnecessary glass of water.

That’s 1.

Love, Mom

P. S. Thanks for the article, Grandpa!

Dear Kid,

I’m feeling very mother bear-ish this morning.

Not the “my porridge is too cold” (sounds disgusting to me) kind of mama bear.

More the “mess with my kid and I will rip your head off your shoulders” kind.

Not that there is (as far as I know) anything you or Pi (or the Puppy) need protecting from.

I did the only reasonable thing I could think of: I sent my friend Sue a text.

She (being a good friend) replied immediately: You have Empty Nest Syndrome.

She and I have the same medical degree—we’re equipped to dispense chicken soup, apply Band-Aids, and kiss boo-boos.

I checked with My Friend the Internet (MFtI).

Me: Tell me about Empty Nest Syndrome.
MFtI: You have it.
Me: Sue told you to say that.
MFtI: Well, yeah. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.
Me: I don’t have empty nest syndrome.
MFtI: You miss your kids.
Me: Of course. Proves nothing.
MFtI: You want more small furry animals.
Me: Still proves nothing.
MFtI: You’re eating a lot of chocolate.
Me: Am not.
MFtI: Yeah, I made that part up.
Me: You’re the internet. You’re not supposed to make stuff up.
MFtI: You’re kidding, right?

I texted Sue.

Actual text: The Internet agrees with you. I don’t.
Actual text reply: I don’t make the rules.

We need to fix that. I’m pretty sure a world run with her rules would be far more entertaining…

It’s a good thing you are coming home for turkey. I need a hug.

Love, Mom