Dear Susannah, just because I said we might move to a different house some day does NOT mean our house has to explode first. You’re an odd little child. Dear Susannah (again), I know you want to be just like your daddy, but I think hitting yourself in the face with a hammer is taking it a little too far. Dear Madeline, enough with the eye-rolling, already! Dear self, you and your fingers are giant wimps. You would never make it as a burn patient. Dear Susannah (last one, I promise), I’m awfully glad that you scared yourself enough after a few snips to stop cutting your hair. Next time I wouldn’t leave the hair all over the bathroom floor if you don’t want to get caught. Dear husband, thank you for returning the library books for me. Again.
Dear Madeline, please stop asking everyone who has spots on their face if they have poison ivy. It’s embarrassing. Dear self, don’t ever, EVER walk outside of the house without your keys and phone again. Dear Madeline, thank you for locking the door “so bad guys can’t steal you” before leaving for the store with daddy. Nice of you. Dear kidney stones, please don’t feel the need to re-visit. We aren’t friends. Dear Madeline (again!), you crack me up when you hop on the scale, announce that you weigh “zero and a half” and then rub your belly and say it’s because you’ve been eating tooooo many chips. Kids. Dear everyone who’s plans I ruined on Saturday – sorry. And thanks for all your help, especially Michelle who drove my wretched self to the hospital.
Dear Ang, you are a lifesaver for sending me that giant tub of taco seasoning. Now the panicky feeling whenever I use what’s left of my jar will stop pestering me and I won’t feel like I have to hoard it for the end of the world or something. :) Dear self, remember how awesome you thought it would be to do all your grocery shopping for the whole month at once? You’re retarded. Dear Susannah, maybe now that you’ve tasted SOAP you’ll listen to me when I tell you not to automatically put stuff in your mouth when I’m working at the kitchen counter. It’s not all bread dough. And even if it is, that’s still grody. Dear Houston, I never want to drive through you during a monsoon again. Or maybe just never again, period. Dear Madeline, remember when you told us that you “like all the animals in the whole world except wolfses.” It reminds me that I love kids. Even when they eat soap.
Dear husband and father-in-law, since we had such a killer time at that giant yard sale on Saturday, maybe we should make it a WEEKLY TRADITION. ;) Dear Madeline, if I didn’t very clearly remember giving birth to you, I’d think you weren’t my kid. I can’t believe you like june bugs enough to pick them up and LET THEM CRAWL ON YOU. gwoss. Dear husband (again), I forgive you (like that fat girl on Nacho Libre) for weed whacking my poor peony. Also for throwing the entire twenty feet of garden hose on top of my orange tree. Despite all that, you’re an okay guy. Dear Caleb, that sign (you know which one) is all glittered and sparkly and gigantic, just waiting to come down next week. Dear Susannah, you were just a little off when I asked you to quote your verse and you replied “Everybody just be happy and nice!” Joel Osteen would probably like it, though.
Dear Susannah, thank you for making me a shopping list. And thank you for shouting out to the entire store that you made sure to put “don’t get fat stuff” (i.e. Slim Fast) on the list for me. Dear little orange tree, why are all of your oranges falling off? Makes me sad. Dear self, you obviously need to read some more time-efficiency books since there don’t seem to be enough hours in the day to get everything done. Or just get up earlier. Dear Susannah (again), whenever I’m avoiding answering the door because ten thousand roofing companies are vying for our business, please don’t tap on your bedroom window to get their attention and then tell them that, yes, mommy is inside. You’re killing me, smalls. Dear sisters and friends that I continually badger about participating, ten on ten is tomorrow! :)
I know, I know, it’s not Tuesday. I got my days mixed up. Or something.
Dear Susannah, you quoted your (long) memory verse so perfectly that I almost hated to tell you that it didn’t end with “page 16.” But I think you would have figured it out from our prolonged fit of laughter anyways. Kids. Dear stormy weather, I can’t even be grouchy about the fact that it’s been so cold and rainy, because I’m so happy for every day that it’s not hot yet. It’s seriously just not been long enough since summer ended for it to all start over again. Dear peony, you have a BLOOM! Please don’t die before you open. Please don’t die before you open. Dear Easter candy, GO AWAY! You’re making my life very hard! (For many reasons.) Dear Caleb, Heather spilled the beans about your blog-every-day-in-April goal. Awesome job so far. Dear self, next week get your days right. Good grief.
Dear Madeline, no, the HHR (aka “Car Trouble”) does not have a Corvette motor in it. Nope, not even a “little, tiny” one. How did you become such a know-it-all so fast? Dear Susannah, even your ponytails have attitude. When you’re mad or upset, it shows everywhere. Dear husband, you and John E. are a bad combination. Very bad. Dear Susannah, you’re the cutest little helper ever. I just love you. Dear orange tree, your blossoms smell amazing. They should after I risked life and limb to save you from the hail storm.
Dear Madeline, happy birthday, fluffy. I hope you feel better soon, little one. Dear self, just so you know, taking down a license plate number when you see a (jerky) driver clip another car and then roar off doesn’t make you a Good Samaritan unless you actually stop and give the victim the license plate number. Bad you. But if one of my readers just happens to be the SUV that got hit on Military Pkwy this morning, I have the jerk’s license plate number… Dear Susannah, no, the garage door opener clipped to the visor does NOT “make wings pop out of the car so it can fly.” Sorry to disappoint. But really, who need television with entertainment like you around?
Dear Madeline, your wheezing-gasping-late-night-trips-to-the-ER stuff is making my hairs turn gray. At least now I have something to blame it on, though. Dear Susannah, no, I really can’t explain WHY the English language is the way it is. It doesn’t make much sense to anyone, so you’re going to have to just suck it up and learn it like we all did. Sorry. Dear husband, thanks for trying to make it up to us all when we had to cancel our hot date (and the girls had to cancel their hot date with grandma and grandpa). You’re a good guy. Dear self, you’ve seriously got to stop with the coke drinking. You don’t want to end up like that lady who died from drinking it all day. No, seriously, you don’t. Dear self (again), why are you talking in the third person? Weirdo.
Dear February, I do so love you in all your heart-sprinkley goodness. Dear Madeline, all of your song-leading practice is paying off. I’ll never forget you standing on the piano bench, singing at the top of your lungs about the “higher plane above my feet” (to the tune of Higher Ground). Nice one. Dear husband, I’m real sorry about your hair. For real. Dear Susannah, way to go on making me realize that I need to do better about schooling you in spiritual matters. Because the three persons of God aren’t God the Father, God the Son, and Abraham. It was a good try, though.