An Open Letter
Dear Child of Mine, You can come now. I know I've been telling you all along that you can come late, but late is now. I really appreciate your cooperation thus far. The kitchen is clean (until dinner time), the bills are paid for the next month, groceries are stocked, the trash has been taken out, the floors are clean (no thanks to your off balance mother), the pantry is organized. Doesn't that make you want to come and mess it all up? Yesterday marked a year since your dad and I bought our little house, and I am happy to report we finally unpacked the last box. And hung pictures. And put out door mats. So really, we are never going to be more ready for you as we are right now. Of course, everyone these days is asking about how we've decorated your room. "Room" is a generous term. Or maybe I should say the entire house is your room. You have more clothes than your parents do. And your father complains about how all of his "man space" has become dia