If I could mess with the space and time continuum

A note to (from?) my future self:

 

Hey there fantastic.

Listen. You will buy these hairclips one day and they will be perfect for you. They will be large enough to pull back your hair, but small enough to be comfortable during naps, and discreet enough to wear without looking like there is a plastic banana in your hair. You know how long you've searched for something like this. Well, self, you will forget where you bought these. Perhaps they don’t even exist anymore. So it’s pretty unfortunate that you will lose all but one of them and you will hold onto that one for dear life, despite the fact that it is barely operational anymore.

But this will serve as a glowing example of how thrifty you are. Wear that sucker out, and use this experience as reference when certain persons say you spend too much money on things.

Chin up girl. I mean chin down. I keep forgetting how pointy that thing is.

Mr. Postman, here's another letter to an inanimate object

Dearest SandBox,

I know you think I don’t like you and how you’ve wrapped your gritty little claws around my son. Let’s be honest shall we? You’re absolutely correct. You’ve got a wonderfully keen eye. I don’t like you, most of the time.

I don’t like how you attract children within a one mile radius, especially when those children sneak in the back and you encourage them to make backhoe loader noises that snap my baby out of his sweet slumber. If I had known that human spawn have the innate ability to sense the presence of a sandbox I might not have encouraged bringing you into the family. I’m sure you already knew about this power of yours though. You are the epitome of misrepresentation.

I don’t like how you also attract the neighborhood cats. Felines are not to be trusted anywhere near you. You are too tempting, and kitties do bad things when you are around. If you didn’t have that cover of yours, let’s just say you would be sent away to a factory that makes sandpaper.

I don’t like how my son comes inside at the end of the day with sand in places sand should never be. Wasn’t there a clause about that in our contract? I should sue you for failure to remain out of my child’s nose, mouth, scalp, belly button, butt, eyeballs, ears, digestive tract, etc.

I don’t like how last summer, when I was large with child, I had to sit on your little itty bitty corner seat and shovel sand while my sciatic nerve screamed.

I don’t like how you make me long to go to a real beach, with real sand littered with seashells, driftwood, seaweed, and the occasional dead jellyfish. You are not a beach, and you never will be. You do not have a lovely coastal view, and you are littered with bulldozers, rocks, dirt clods, and the occasional bug. It is a sad truth that I live with everyday, as do you.

Also I don’t like how you’ve seen fit to rub my lack of a green thumb in my face. I get it. You don’t have a brain, or hands, or a tender loving heart such as myself, but you can still grow plants. I get it. Even a lifeless sandbox can sustain life. Message received.

But despite the many reasons I have to despise you with every fiber of my being, I don’t. There are fleeting moments when I’ve got my feet in the cool damp sand, and I remember my own childhood. And then I see my children making these same memories (except with trucks, not kitchenware and dolls). You can entertain them for hours in a way I will never be able. That’s why I say I dislike you, most of the time. So for now I’ll keep you around and just cope with sandy butts, and poop, through my tears.

Letter To: My Bed

Dearest Bed,

I miss you. It’s been awhile since I’ve been able to fully enjoy your alternative downy goodness. Nights right now are usually interrupted and filled with tossing and turning. I’ve longed to snuggle up and enjoy a nice cozy nap during the day but feared I wouldn’t ever wake up. So I avoided you all together to resist the temptation. My sincerest apologies on being negligent. Instead of fluffing you and arranging the pillows just so, like I usually do, I’ve left your sheets and blankets askew while the pillows are scattered on the floor being stepped on. This does indeed make me feel guilty and unkempt. Just know that you are quite possibly my most favorite place in the house. You are a much needed oasis, in a home full of boys and their toys. Remember when I convinced the Husband that we wouldn’t be real grown-ups until I finally had you, beautiful bed. Then right after we bought you and the Husband was assembling you, he accidentally dropped your headboard and left two eternal dents. I almost cried. He almost cried for other reasons, probably to do with money or some such nonsense.  We both know he under values your worth, seeing as how he could sleep on a steel beam if need be. But never mind that. You’re perfect in my eyes. You are my bed, even though Bosco and Bubba can sometimes be found trying to steal a snuggle in the morning hours.


Until we meet again under different circumstances.


Note: Periodically I plan on writing letters to things, or places, or people. Want me to write a letter to a particular someone, someplace, or something? Just let me know. Let’s be crazy together. There's tons of fun to be had in talking to inanimate objects.