March 8, 2012

Dear Babies,

I like to think of the soundtrack of our lives, whether it be a song stuck in my head, one we hear sung by a street performer, something that comes on the radio, or blasts from the open window of a car driving by. . .

These days it’s “Another One Bites the Dust.” Cue Queen:

Everyday your father comes home to the house rearranged. The more you guys get into things, the less I can keep out around the house. Anything within your height, arm, eye range? Gone. . .

The living room end tables.

Stuff in bathroom medicine cabinets.

Phone chargers and anything plugged into outlets.

Gone.

Another one bites the dust.


Bins of shoes. Umbrella stands. Coat hangers. Another one bites the dust.

The wine fridge.

Toilet paper holders.

Garbage pails.

Another one bites the dust.


Picture frames.

Mirrors.

Blind cords.

Another one gone, and another one gone. . . 

Console tables.

Remote controls.

Another one bites the dust.


I’m a stuff person. I would love us to live in a menagerie. Piles of books and sea shells and antique weird things, magnifying glasses and watering cans and peacock feathers, oh my! Pack me up and send me to John Derian, please!

Now? I would love us to live in an igloo with nothing around. Nothing.

Ah, to think, how easy it would be then to simply brush my teeth…

Watch out, hamper, you’re next.

HEY! I’m gonna get you, too! Another one bites the dust!

Love,

Mom

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