An Open Apology.

Dear Grandparents,

We are so looking forward to your visits in the upcoming weeks. I have been scrubbing every inch of my house to make it ready for your welcome. I've picked out your sheets, stocked up on yummy soap, used lavender in the guest towels, planned a menu, and nagged The Spouse about possible things to do and places to visit.

But alas.
The Terrible Toddlers have found us, right on cue.

And I'm really not kidding when I warn: She bites.

Sorry.

You've Not Got Mail.

Dear Nicole,
Um. I got your message about your camera. The one you left. It was in the crack in my couch.

And I know you asked me to mail it.

I totally intend to. And of course I'm going to throw something fun and Christmas-y in there, for good measure.

But I think I might just have to drive it down to you instead. Because it would be so much easier for me to drive the 2.5 hours to your apartment and drop it off, with some Hershey's Kisses, than it would be to take my kids to the local Postal Office.

You've seen my kids. I think you can imagine why. It's very "Apocolypse Now."

So--whatcha doin' this weekend? Can I bring you your camera?

Kthxbai.