Open Letters: Updated

Dear Leafy,

Let's discuss this.

I understand a sweet tooth. Who wouldn't? I understand that sometimes it seems like a good idea to stand on a chair at the shelf in the kitchen and alternately eat out of the honey jar and the brown sugar jar. It's not a good idea, by the way, but I remember being small myself and thinking that a mouth full of brown sugar sounded like fun.

Also, if you're thirsty and you don't feel like going through the whole rigamarole of asking for something to drink, it's understandable that you decide to simply stand at the open fridge with a bag of milk held up in front of you, drinking every last drop that isn't running down your belly. I get that. I also get the occasional urge to go through the bananas, opening many and sampling bites. It doesn't make it any more right, but it makes sense.


This eating of the raw rice? Why? I don't understand. Not at all. Please stop. It's disturbing us all. And it's messy. And weird.



Dear Kid A,

You cried for quite a while yesterday because Daddy was away and therefore you had no one to play chess with. I'm mystified. Let me remind you- that was your sixth birthday, not your sixteenth. Just in case there's any confusion. I mean, I don't think there is, considering the wiggling, the loud noises, and the incessant questions, but just so you know. Chess is not going anywhere. You have many years ahead of you to play a game that makes my head hurt.

I love you, mystery boy


Dear Dead Gecko,

No one saw you in that window hinge. I'm really sorry about the way you went. I hope it was instant and painless. I'll try to remind my Superstar Husband to close the windows with the lights on next time.

Alright. Um. Rest in Peace!


Dear Bread Man on a bike,

A few squeaks of the honky horn thing are surely enough to alert people to your presence. Your shift is so early; 6:30; I'm sure that either people are up and waiting for you, or desiring to be left asleep. Or at least for their children to be left asleep. Try this: just squeak! squeak! Like that.



Dear... um... Milkmakers,

Must you start gushing when I even think of the word baby? Show a little restraint, please! It's embarrassing. I mean, you're doing a good job, and you're totally appreciated, but not all of us moms like to be soaked all the time.

Glad we have that cleared up,

Love, the rest of the body.

Dear 1974,

I'm wearing your belted maxi-pads, in case you were missing them! They got relocated to India, whoopee! Now I can experience a little blast from the past, and everyone is happy!




Dear Matty,

Sorry for the references both to maxi-pads and "milk-makers" in the same post, little brother.  And... Happy birthday!



(Once upon a time there was a girl whose mother, sister, and brother had birthdays so close together that they were all almost twins.  Except that they were born in different years.  And then her son was born right in between these birthdays, and he became a kind of twin too.)

(New post up- Jaya Part Two- here.)