Letters to My Kids

The One with the Mouse Conversations

It’s time.
Time to join MckMama in a moment of brutal honesty.
I am definitely not loving the snowflakes that are quickly accumulating.
Nope.
I’m not a snow lover.
Not at all.
I would never leave my hair to dry into a crazy mess post-shower.
Nope.
I’m always on top of my morning routine.
And therefore I wouldn’t dare just go with the wave
(if it could be called that)
throw in some product
and go.
Never.
And I would not dream of hitting snooze on the alarm clock.
Eight times.
Before rolling out of bed.
Nope, not me.
I have always led a disciplined life
and therefore would not morph into some sort of slacker
a year into my life as a married woman.*
*Two years ago I would be totally truthful when saying I don’t hit snooze.
But if I said I never hit snooze at this point of my life
I would totally be lying.
And you would not overhear me talking to our little mouse friend, Bianca.
Telling her that if she doesn’t get her rear end moving I’m, well…there wasn’t really a threat.
But I am definitely concerned for her.
She’s going to get fat.
And die.
She needs to run run run on that little annoying wheel of hers.
Instead of curling up in her enclosed patio.
And covered herself with her new favorite discarded sock.
Nope, I never talk to animals.
Especially mice.
And even if I did I wouldn’t sound like some sort of personal trainer.
Nope, not me!

———-
We are now almost halfway through the dramatic reading of
Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.
I say “dramatic” somewhat sarcastically.
For I am not always that fabulous of a reader.
In fact I even stumble at times.
Or at multiple points within one sentence.
But that’s only when I get tired.
Or not.
But dramatic or not, this story is riveting.
And reading aloud to my husband has made it something wonderful for us to share.
I must now look for a new copy of the book however.
For I broke the binding right in half.
And page 252 has fallen out completely.
It’s not my fault.
I swear.
Well, I suppose it has a little to do with me.
But so did the bookbag abuse it took back in Kevin’s elementary days.
(Yes, that’s right.
It’s taken me 24 years to catch up to where my husband was at in 3rd grade.)
Another shared interest is a sci-fi television series.
That, for some strange reason, only ever aired 13 episodes.
I blame it on the terribly cheesy intro song.
But Firefly is certainly an entertaining show.
I really do enjoy it.
The story line is lame.
But the characters are most hilarious.
I think Kevin is pretty much bursting with excitement
over the fact that I’m requesting to watch the next episode.
It’s reminiscent to my first experience with MacGyver.
Totally cheesy.
Way to easy to make fun of.
But somehow it sucks you into it’s ridiculousness.
And before you know it
you’re a fan.
I wouldn’t mind having the rest of the MacGyver seasons in our collection, in fact.
Last night was our first night back to regularly scheduled programming…errr…youth group…in what seemed like forever.
We missed those kids.
Teens.
Whichever.
I had a blast with the girls.
My sister had sent me back with a pile of dresses.
Perfect for school dances of any variety.
I had mentioned this to a few of the girls a while back.
They had not forgotten.
In fact, two of them arrived early to get “first dibs.”
As it turns out, each of them ended up leaving with their favorite garment.
They all looked adorable.
And now it’s time to clean up all the BBs.
These little plastic versions of bullets are lying here there and everywhere.
Kevin bought a few airsoft guns with his Christmas money.
Two cheap ones for the teens to defend themselves with against his firing.
He keeps wanting to shoot me.
I tell him if he does, he’ll really wish he didn’t.
Seems to be a sufficient threat for the time being.
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