I’ve decided to take Eve’s lead and enlist the help of one of my own relatives to write my blog post this week. Thankfully, he accepted the challenge. I now give to you my holiday letter…written by my 4-year old son. (Okay, maybe he didn’t “actually” write the blog post, but he does have a good sense of humor and can probably spell better than me. Plus he’s cute, so there.)
It’s me, Luke! I hope this letter finds you happy, healthy, knee deep in chocolate and surrounded by puppies and hot dogs.
We had a really fun Christmas this year. I got a red dinosaur, a green dinosaur, a dinosaur puzzle, a robot T-rex, and some socks. What’d you get? Mommy got a nice new coat (even though it’s weird that she won’t stop wearing it, even on top of her pajamas) and some new slippers (even though I announced what they were right before she opened the box). She also got a beautiful mermaid ornament and when she opened it she and Daddy kept giggling and saying stuff about it looking anatomically correct and I’m not sure what that means—I’m only four years old for heavens sake—but I think it means she can exchange it if she has a receipt. Right?
Daddy got a hat and some socks and he kept talking about resentments and utter disappointment. Again, I think he’s okay with a gift receipt.
For our family gift, we all went to Mexico! I spent all my waking hours in the pool and Mommy kept complaining about not having any time to write. I think it had to do with all those pink drinks and her excessive napping, if you ask me. (But don’t tell her I said that! She’s been getting a little defensive about her writing lately, so you have to handle her carefully. What usually works is a big, toothy grin then some kissies and huggies and generally saying any word with a ‘ie’ on the end. She thinks that’s adorable. So it’s all good.)
Anyways, it was a big year in our house. Daddy bought an old classic Mercedes and now he sticks fried wontons in the engine to make it run. Smells good, even though I think he should switch to French fries. Maybe put some ketchup in the exhaust.
This year Mommy got something called “an agent” but I think they have medicine for that. And if it tastes like cherries…well, all the better.
When Daddy’s not running out the door to “pick up some more oil” and Mommy’s not running out the door to “finish her next chapter” we usually spend good quality family time together at home. We like to sit back, relax, and discuss the spiritual/political hidden messages embedded in the dialogue of our favorite Sponge Bob episodes. But doesn’t everyone?
Happy holidays! I hope your next year is full of dinosaurs and anatomically correct mermaids and gift receipts.
(who is only four years old, for heavens sake, and in no way endorses this letter)