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Posts Tagged ‘Family’

Dear Greg, Publix Manager:

Thank you for hiring Dominic this week.

You have no idea how thankful I am to get him off the Xbox, his phone and the couch.

He’ll be gainfully employed. Occupied and out of trouble. Able to buy his own snacks.

(His lunch today? Oreos, Goldfish and popcorn.)

He made me laugh as I was taking him to the interview with you. WAY overconfident:

Me: Are you nervous?

Him: No. Who wouldn’t like me?

Oh LORD.

But you did like him, so he wasn’t wrong.

I could not be happier for him to get a taste of real life.

So, thank you from the bottom of my mom heart.

Your loyal customer,
Beth

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Dear Elek,

I didn’t know I needed you in my life until you showed up.

I have a predilection for hairy males, but you are a little furrier than most.

And even though your breath smells like fish and ass, I let you into my bed.

I woke up spooning you.

I’m sorry if I moved too fast.

But it’s been a long time since I’ve had a new fella in my bed.

My hairy bedmate, post-spoon

You are so handsome when you sun yourself.

Yes, I know you have a lady already. And yes, I know you and Gideon are supposed to be bro-ing it up this week. But it’s clear whom you love best.

So if you want to leave Sherry for me, you beautiful creature, I would be more than fine with that.

Love and wet kisses,
Beth

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Dear Dominic,

Today you are 15. You were supposed to be born Dec. 13, but you couldn’t wait to get out into the world.

I knew you were coming early, especially as right around Thanksgiving would be a supremely bad time for you to come. Your father and Terri, my backup push coach, would both be out of town. (Remember, your dad was coaching basketball at the time.)

The doctor examined me at the beginning of Thanksgiving week, and said you weren’t coming.

But I knew better: Any child of mine would do things his own way.

So when I was doubled over in Target the day after Thanksgiving, I knew.

When my pain got unbearable, I called in BABY COMING to the TV station, and checked myself into the hospital.

The attending doctor told me to suck it up. That you weren’t coming. And to go home.

I basically told that asshat to shove it. I refused to leave. I told him to call my doctor, put a fetal monitor on me, do an exam — whatever he needed to do to be convinced.

(Thinking, “Just come closer so I can show you what pain is like.”)

Saturday morning, my doctor arrived, and checked me out.

Oh! You’re about to have this baby!

Yeah. No shit.

I called your father back from wherever he was. (Randy, thank you for driving him back.)

I called in your aunt to be backup for Terri.

After a failed epidural and, thus, incredible pain and gnashing of teeth, you arrived.

There has been a different kind of pain and gnashing of teeth as you navigate puberty.

But you’ve been mostly great lately.

When I was out of town last weekend, I couldn’t believe it was YOU texting me this:

Though the lack of punctuation and capitalization drives me batshit crazy, I do appreciate the sentiment.

And I loved laughing with you last night at Donkey’s mange line in “Shrek Forever After.”

Have we come out the other side?

That would be great.

And thanks for making me giggle this morning when you came out with the stick you call your “thotslayer” to keep me from spanking you for your birthday.

Happy birthday to my smart smartass. I do love you.
Mama

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Dear Chris Jericho,

I think …

I think I may be …

I think I may be a Jerichoholic.

It started out small (as addictions usually do).

I knew who you were.

Then I started listening to Fozzy.

Then I went to a Fozzy concert.

Then I started watching AEW: Dynamite every Wednesday night.

And just last night I caught myself wishing I had found out about the Chris Jericho Rock ‘N’ Rager at Sea: Part Deux before it sold out.

So now I think I have a problem.

I’m more surprised than you. I’m sure you think everyone should be a Jerichoholic.

But you’re not my usual type.

1. You’re blond.

2. You’re hairless.

3. You’re a little … stocky.

I know I should be booing you along with the AEW audience.

But I can’t.

I can’t stop smiling and laughing when you are on screen.

Just ask Gideon. He’s right there with me on the couch every Wednesday.

They say the first step in recovery is admitting you have a problem.

So.

My name is Beth, and I’m a Jerichoholic.

Hit me up if cruise slots open.

I’d be happy to experience the Judas Effect for myself.

Love,
Beth

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Dear Beth D., my supportive health coach:

Now that I’ve reached my goal weight, we don’t chat very much. Just know that I’m not going to be satisfied until I lose six more pounds. That’s what it will take to get to the weight my driver’s license says I am.

I am satisfied with my progress, though.

Here are three recent events that filled me with glee and a sense of accomplishment.

1. Today I am wearing very special boots.

I’m not just channeling Scrooge McDuck. I’m bringing back Fall 2011. That’s when I bought these boots in Paris. They were aspirational boots as the tongue and laces didn’t quite cover my fat calves.

But I loved them, and I knew SOME DAY I would be able to wear them. Today is that day.

2. Eddie took Dominic clothes shopping because the kid has the nerve to keep growing. He did the requisite fashion show when he got home.

I especially liked one pair of jeans that he bought. I threatened to steal them.

Him: I know you’ve lost weight, but you can’t fit into my jeans.
Me: Wanna bet?
Him: Mama, they won’t fit you. They barely fit me.
Me: Let’s see.

I proceed to wriggle into his jeans. To my delight — and his consternation — they fit.

Me: See! Now say you were wrong.
Him: I’m not saying anything. I’m mad right now.
Me: Mad because you were wrong?
Him: Maybe.

I knew they would fit because of Event No. 3.

3. Usually Eddie and I do our laundry, and let the kids do their own. Sometimes to top off a load, I will grab some of their clothes. This leads to a rousing game of Whose Pants Are These?

These jeans belong to Dominic, Gideon and me. Can you guess which pair belongs to whom? The answer is at the bottom of this post.

I put on a pair of jeans I thought were mine, but were actually Dominic’s.

It was kind of a big deal for me.

Keep in mind I’ve carried around extra weight since I carried around Dominic.

The three events above would not have been possible without your support and encouragement.

I thank you (even if Dominic doesn’t).

Talk to you in six pounds,
A Lighter Beth

Whose Pants Are These?: (l to r) Mine, Dominic’s, Gideon’s

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Dear Alien Life Forms:

I’m onto you. Not only are you real, but you abducted Dominic. The replacement you left looks like him, but the insides are all kinds of jacked.

You know how I know?

Three little words he’s never said before:

Can I help?

I was rooted to the spot in shock.

This child wanted to help his brother and me make cookies.*

And he did. Kindly. Cooperatively. Carefully.

I was dumbfounded. And the sense of humor you installed!

While the cookies were in the oven, he also introduced me to two girls from school via FaceTime. He wanted them to meet me.

Um. What?

Later, we all were watching “Zombieland” in preparation for the sequel out now. He showed up and sat WITH ME under my bacon blanket (Thanks for that, Trish!).

But that’s not all.

Near the end of the movie, Columbus made a comment about the uselessness of Facebook and status updates like:

Rob Curtis is gearing up for Friday.

I had been taking a drink when he said it, and I spit my water all over myself and Gideon. That made me laugh even harder.

I had to pause the movie for shoulder-shaking, gasping-for-air, stomach-clutching laughter.

Instead of getting embarrassed, saying “Mama!” and asking me to stop, Dominic started laughing too — as hard as I was.

So thank you. I’m a big fan of the replacement.

I’m betting you are really regretting your decision to take the original right about now.

Too bad. So sad.

Meanwhile, the cookies were delicious.

Sincerely,
Beth from Earth

* Gideon got 17 packets of M&M’s in his Halloween haul. He likes that candy, but not that much. Hence, cookies.

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Dear Dominic,

You are something else. You call to mind Forrest Gump:

Your raging hormones ensure that life with you is unpredictable, at best.

See, this recent text exchange made me laugh:

 

 

(Why didn’t you take a selfie? I don’t know.)

This one with your father is pretty funny also:

And you even charmed some college girls when I took you to my Public Speaking class as a visual aid. One student was doing her informative speech on the difference between college-aged Gen Z and younger representatives of the generation.

Students in the class gave the presenter high marks for her breathing visual aid:

When you left, half the girls in the class squealed, “He’s SO CUTE.”

Don’t let that go to your head.

For the love of gawd, as you wrote.

Just don’t.

Instead, focus on your school work so I don’t have to have convos like this:

I love you despite your bad attitude and general slackery.
Mama

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