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,

Let’s face it: Pretty much no one likes getting shots.

On the other hand, given a choice between a shot and death, most of us will choose a shot.

Given a choice between a shot and being ridiculously ill (with potentially long lasting side effects), most of us will choose a shot.

Given a choice between a shot and making other people ridiculously ill (with death a potential side effect), most of us will choose a shot.

Which makes the political situation even weirder than you might think.

There is a discussion (and by “discussion” I mean all out fight) in Columbus (the capitol of our Great State) over whether businesses (including hospitals and other healthcare facilities) should be allowed to require employees to have a flu shot as a condition of employment.

I think the majority of the problem stems from the use of the word “flu.” No one confuses “flu” with “flew” or “flue” (or if they do, they’re wise enough not to mention it to me). But the number of people who confuse “flu” with “a bit of a cold” or “the sniffles” annually astounds me.

The flu is an acute respiratory illness caused by influenza viruses A or B. Most people who get the flu recover completely in 1 to 2 weeks, but some people develop serious and potentially life-threatening medical complications, such as pneumonia. Includes body aches, fever, sore throat, vomiting, and other assorted nasty symptoms.

You do not get over the flu in 24 hours any more than you pop two Advil and get over a migraine.

If you’ve had the flu, you understand the difference (still grateful to Gloria for bringing me apple juice and graham crackers). If you think I’m exaggerating, you’ve never had the flu. Or a migraine.

Having had the flu (once was enough, thank you very much), I get a flu shot every year. The pain of twenty-plus years’ worth of shots doesn’t even begin to compare to the death wish that is the flu.

And now there is legislation about the right (or lack thereof) to require employees to get a flu shot.

While I am all for individual responsibility and decision making, this seems beyond ridiculous. People who hang around people who have a lot of germs (young children and the elderly) and/or the vulnerable (young children and the elderly) should have the flu shot. It’s not risky, it’s not particularly painful, and it can save lives.

Yes, I think everyone should get a flu shot every year. No, I don’t think we should legislate that. Yes, I think some employers should be able to require the flu shot (and other delightful preventative measures) as employment requirements. No, I don’t think everyone has the right to make other people sick.

And Yes, I got my flu shot months ago.

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,

‘Tis the Day After the Day After and somewhere in this house there is a piece of floor that isn’t covered by clothing, boxes to go back to college, boxes to go over to storage, random pieces of paper, or dog toys. I’m convinced there is a piece of floor. I can’t prove it, but I believe.

Somehow, the elves have not appeared to clean up. I’m confused, because I know they are on holiday from the North Pole now that the annual delivery chaos is over. Perhaps they are all sunning on a beach (that sounds smart). I know they aren’t busy picking up at our house.

Amazing as it sounds, I am cleaning up and clearing things out. The only problem is I seem to (in some ways) be making an even bigger mess. Everything out of the closet! Sort through everything that was in the closet and is now on the floor! Dispose of or donate many of the aforementioned items! Check, check, and check. But when it comes to Replace in closet or Reorganize or Whatever, I lose steam. I invent Declare the floor the new storage place! Done and done.

I’ve come up with some new ways of deciding if I should keep something.

1. If the rubber band holding things together is dried out, you don’t need anything it’s “holding” anymore.
2. If the business card doesn’t have an email address, recycle it.
3. If it’s been broken for 5 (or more) years, you aren’t going to get it fixed and you don’t need it. (3a: If it’s technology that can’t be fixed, waiting another year or two isn’t going to make it any more fixable. Get rid of it now.)
4. If you have a discount to a business that no longer exists, get rid of it.
5. If it’s patched with duct tape and you haven’t used it in 2 years, it’s time to let go.
6. If it would embarrass you for your best friend to know you still have it, throw it out.
7. If you have no idea what it is, enlightenment is not going to arrive. Toss it.

Using this method, I’ve gotten rid of 2,347 business cards, an unidentifiable piece of plastic, and a pair of boots. Progress is progress.

Love, Mom

Dear Kid,

This is very exciting. It seems 2018 is going to be the year of purple.

Pantone has named Ultra Violet its color of the year for 2018.

A dramatically provocative and thoughtful purple shade, PANTONE 18-3838 Ultra Violet communicates originality, ingenuity, and visionary thinking that points us toward the future.

More importantly, the Voice of the Movies has spoken. The Vice Admiral (Star Wars: The Last Jedi) has lavender hair. The hedgehogs in Ferdinand are (mostly) purple. Una is purple; Dos is a darker purple; Cuatro is a steel blue but his ears, nose, and eye rings are light violet. And Tres? “We do not speak of Tres,” –Una.

I’ve had purple hair for some time now. Which either makes me ahead of the trends (unlikely) or particularly enchanted with the color. (Trust me, if Pantone says next year’s color is peach, I will not be sporting peachy hair.)

2018. The year of purple. I’m pretty excited.

Love, Mom

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,

Just for the record, I was right.

Someday, this will cease to surprise people. Since we have not yet reached that day, I will continue to remind people.

I was right.

 When one talks about alcohol proof one is technically talking about the amount of ethanol (and by “ethanol” we [and by “we” I mean the scientific community] mean alcohol) in a beverage. In the US of A (yes, it’s different in different countries), alcohol proof is twice the percentage of alcohol by volume.

In other words, 100 proof whiskey contains 50% alcohol.

As we all agreed one cannot say “50% proof” unless one is talking about geometry. Which we most certainly were not.

So why the term “proof”? I’m glad you asked.

Turns out that in England back the 16^th century, adult beverages were taxed at different rates depending on their alcohol content levels. More alky equals more taxy. Since the tax man (yes, they were all men back then) didn’t have advanced labs to carry around with them, they devised the gunpowder test.

Basically, they soaked a pellet of gunpowder in the liquid being tested. If it could still burn post-soak, it was considered above proof and therefore taxed at a higher rate. Hard to see how that would improve the taste of the alcohol.

In case you randomly find yourself on Jeopardy!, you should be aware that 57.15% alcohol was the level of proof because under that amount, soaked gunpowder wouldn’t burn. So BackInTheDayintheUK, 57.15% was 100 proof.

By the 18^th century, there were more complicated tests that don’t interest me very much and didn’t really change the system.

Here in the US, the idea of calculating 57.15% (or even thinking about calculating 57.15%) gave people migraines, so when the proof system was established (1848 in case you were wondering) we skipped all the complex specific gravity stuff and went with 50% alcohol equals 100 proof.

These days, people don’t care about proof very much (unless you’re a college student in which case saying you’re drinking something 60 proof is much cooler than saying you’re drinking something 30% alcohol).

Love, Mom