I’m trying to get myself in the habit of e-mailing you since you’ll be leaving in August for Korea. When you’re in Korea, I plan on e-mailing you a lot just in case we aren’t able to speak. And if we are able to speak, we have to work out the time difference because, Tom, I love you dearly but I cannot wake up at four AM to talk. The conversation would come out like this:
You: Hi, how is it going?
Me: Blarrgggggggg…..
You: What? I didn’t get that.
Me: BLARGGGGGGGG
I seriously cannot carry a conversation that early, Tom, I just can’t. So if e-mailing is all we can do, so be it. We can pretend like we’re Internet lovers or something. I know you roll my eyes when I suggest things like this but really, it could be fun. (I still think one day you should knock on the door with flowers and say that you’re my date, ready to whisk me away. It’s not weird, Tom, it’s called being sweet. If you tell me one more time that because we’re married you don’t have to court me anymore I may have to throttle you. And not just for saying that, but for using the word court in 2010.)
Anyhow, I’m writing to you to say that you produce loud children. I’m not kidding. I was in the middle of folding laundry—don’t laugh, I really do fold the laundry, I don’t always just stuff it in the drawers. I mean, okay, most of the time I stuff things in the drawers because I don’t see the point in folding them. Like underwear. Why bother to fold underwear? It’s a waste of my time. As I was FOLDING some pants, I heard a scream from downstairs. I know you always say never to leave the kids alone but I had put on Nick Jr and assumed the strange show Max and Ruby would entertain them. I know we’re always wondering where Max and Ruby’s parents are—maybe they’re upstairs folding laundry in every episode? Who knows?
When I heard the scream, I hurried downstairs. I found Natalie on her knees with her face buried in her hands. Tommy was covering his ears because you know how he can’t take loud noises.
“What happened?” I shouted. I assumed that someone was injured.
Natalie peeked up. She appeared to be unharmed. “Tommy hurted Snow White,” she sobbed. Then, as if remembering the pain she felt she repeated, “TOMMY HURTED SNOW WHITE!” and burst into fresh tears. Seriously Tom, I think she has a future in acting.
“Tommy, what did you do to Snow White?” I asked calmly.
Tommy pointed to the couch.
And that’s when I saw her.
Well, the bottom part of her.
Tom, please explain to your son not to stuff Snow White into the couch. I mean, suppose he tries to shove a real girl in the couch like this? Don’t we want him to grow up being sensitive and caring? Don’t roll your eyes, Tom, it’s okay if a man is sensitive and caring.
I pulled Snow White free and handed her to a sniffling Natalie.
“Sorry. I didn’t like the way she was watching me,” Tommy explained.
Is that normal? Should we be concerned? Should I book an appointment with a psychologist? I mean, I guess it’s normal. I once had to take down a photograph of Jonathan Brandis that I had hanging in my room when I was around thirteen or so. I had pulled it out of a Tiger Beat magazine and after I had taped it to my wall, I swore Jonathan was watching me. So I took it down. (Poor Jonathan committed suicide a few years back. May he rest in peace.)
So that was my day. How was yours?
I love you,
Amber
PS. Do the catbox.
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