Letter. Writing. Campaign.

News Flash: For those of you who don't know, and I do apologize, I am pregnant with Number two. The bundle is slated to arrive mid-latish April, putting me at about 19 weeks, half way there. Okay, on with the post...

Dear Time:

Please slow down. I’m serious. My daughter was just born and now she’s two. And a half. It was just Halloween and now people are asking what I’m making for Thanksgiving. I started thinking about what to make for Thanksgiving and someone asked me if I’d started my Christmas shopping.

This has got to stop. I’m not sure how you’ll do it, but please, just slow down. Just for one day, I beg you.

Signed,

Timed Out

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Dear Daylight Savings Time:

I’m not sure how you’re related to Time (note separate letter, above) but I just wanted to let you know that you’ve really screwed things up for me and my family. It’s been a couple of weeks now and we still can’t seem to figure ourselves out. I’m irritable and waking at odd hours, my kid tells me she’s ready for a nap at noon (which is really 1pm, her old nap time) and I can’t very well send her to bed without lunch, so we struggle through the next hour until 1pm (which is really 2pm) at which point she’s so tired that it takes her another hour to fall asleep, which she does until nearly 5pm because she’s so tired. By 5pm when she wakes it’s nearly dinnertime. She tells me she just ate (which is basically true). By the time dinner is through and the table is cleared it feels like it should be 9pm, but she’s not tired because she just slept three hours and it’s really only 7pm. Even though its dark enough to be midnight.

I just can’t figure you out. When are we actually in “daylight savings time” anyway? When we spring ahead or when we fall back or just always?

I’m sorry to be so feisty, but I’m tired and I’m pregnant.

Signed,

Too tired and cranky to come up with a clever sign-off

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Dear CVS guy:

Listen, I haven’t been in your store in months, maybe even a year. And to be honest, when I do walk in there I start to have heart palpitations as it is. I’m not sure how you could fit one more Whitman’s Sampler Candy box, but you do.

At any rate, when you needed to pass me in the way-overcrowded-aisle (not with people, mind you, with stuff) all you needed to say was, “Excuse me,” and I would’ve happily moved aside.

But you didn’t.

You stood there and grunted and rolled your eyes when I didn’t even know you were there.

Maybe I’m a little more sensitive these days, being pregnant and all, but even if I weren’t pregnant I’d think you were pretty rude to someone who was just minding her own business and preparing to spend money on window candles that probably won’t work anyway.

So there, I feel better now.

Signed,

I'll huff and puff and blow that house down!

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Dear Jesus:

I think we must be doing something right because our little two-year-old darling told me that I should talk to You the other day.

Our toaster wasn’t working right and I said, “Well, that’s a little bit of a problem” because I’d promised her toast and jam with breakfast. She told me that I should talk to You because You listen to us when we have problems and that You are everywhere.

Sigh.

Love,

Maureen

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Dear Husband:

Remember when were dating and first married and agreed that we’d never be like our parents and watch TV in different rooms? Heck, that we wouldn’t even watch it on different couches?

Well, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’ve started watching TV on different couches and if you keep up this Battlestar Galactica fixation, we might just end up watching it in different rooms, too.

Is this what happens when you have kids?

Love,

Wife

Ps….I’m pretty sure I have a crush on Chuck, but he kind of reminds me of you, if that makes it okay.

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Dear Private Caller:

I’m not sure who you are or what you want, but please stop calling. At least move your pestering to the after-nap hour. One of these days you’re going to wake my little one and then I’ll really be annoyed.

Signed,

Publicly Pi**ed

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Dear Peanut M&M’s in my cupboard:

I hear your taunts and I’m ignoring you. I am not going to open you, so please stop trying. Please.

Signed,

Stuffed well enough with my own peanut, thank you

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Dear Olivia (of the Olivia series for children, by Ian Falconer):
I like your sass and all, but we have to talk about all this standing on tables and chairs business that you seem to enjoy (and get away with).

To date, my 2 year old is a great rule follower. She knows not to "write on people" and to "sit on her bottom." But when we read your stories and you are doing all of the above, it''s planting a seed that I'm afraid is about to sprout.

So, at least if you're going to do those things, maybe your mom and dad could at least correct you on it. Publicly.

Thanks,

Mama of a fan