I dream of the day you will become a fashion-forward body shape element. Of the time when another, younger woman will approach me at the hot dog stand and say, "I just have to tell you, you have the most beautiful muffin top. How do you do it?" And I will turn to face her with a half-smug, half-sisterly look and say, "Gravy, girl. Lots and lots of gravy."

Until that day,

Catt

The two (three?) hours we spent catching up in an Indianapolis Steak n' Shake with your tiny, deliciously pink baby in tow not only saved my sanity as an escaped houseguest, but proved that a shared history is both indelible and invaluable. It's funny-- meeting up with old acquaintences creates a certain pressure of presentation; meeting up with true childhood friends allows the easiest, safest honesty. I'm sorry my extended yammering nearly pushed your mama-boobs to the point of explosion.

Get your ham out,

 

Catt

To answer your question this morning: yes, the Elf on the Shelf can see Dad pooping. Thanks for bringing that up-- maybe the medicine cabinet wasn't a great choice.

Merry Christmas,

Mama

Fuck you. 

There are many mornings when I visit you before I even see the inside of my own office. I am at a point in my life where putting certain things off until I get to work makes perfect sense; a tradeoff for an uninterrupted few minutes in a place where there are no Barbies staring blankly at me from the bathtub.

See you later,

Catt