The last time I wrote a letter I got into a bit of trouble with another blogger. I’ve got some stuff on my mind and, well I’ve never been too scared of trouble so let’s just jump right in with the politically incorrect.
Dear Japanese Tourist,
Please know that I’m generalizing here. I do realize that not every tourist from Japan is like you but I’ve been on this island for a year and I’m pretty confident in saying there are many of you. I don’t understand your fascination with Pearl Harbor. It’s a very somber place for me. Someday I hope I’ll be able to sit down and ask you about it.
Also, please know that I am very aware of our cultural differences. I’ll let you rub my child’s head. I’ll even let you pull out the ringlet of a curl without asking. Take as many pictures as you want. Please know f you shove me or my kids again to get your picture, it will hurt when I start throwing elbows. After a year here, I’m almost there. Let me generalize Americans for you. We like our space. Even on an island, please give me at least six inches. If I’ve patiently waited for my turn to take the picture, don’t step in front of me and walk on my kids. I realize things are different in Japan. You are visiting America. Cultural rules are different here. I appreciate your consideration.
An Angry Mama
I know you’ve all grown so it’s hard to notice how much taller Jack actually is. Please put your nail polish back on the nail polish shelf that neither Bria or Jack can reach for a reason. While you’re at it, all art supplies like markers, paints, hole punches, scissors and anything else I’m not thinking of should be relocated before I lose my mind. After the relocation process I would truly appreciate it if you would return said items to their home when you finish using them and not leave them lying all over the house.
Your Mother (Not A Haz-Mat Cleaning Crew)
You are growing up too fast. I’m almost 40 and sometimes my self esteem that seems rock solid can take a hit from social media. Be careful. I’m watching but I know I don’t see everything. This is something you’ll have to learn to navigate and it’s scary to watch. Also, it wouldn’t hurt you to step away from the iPod every now and then.
Your concerned mother
Dear Commissary Patron,
I’m sorry for whatever ailment happened to you that you found it necessary to leave dirty underwear behind a car tire. You could have at least had the decency to put it to the front of the car so everyone walking in to buy food might have had the chance to avert their eyes. Please know there are trash cans conveniently located EVERYWHERE. Next time, do the right thing.
Grossed out shopper
I’m glad you are coming out of your shell. I realize the bathroom has the potential for some pretty great Route 44 like roads. It’s not a playroom though. Sadly, cleaning isn’t one of your mother’s strong suits. Let’s keep the cars in the playroom or your room and your hands out of the toilet. Also, toilet paper isn’t a toy even though you can turn it into a cool gushy mess. I appreciate your cooperation in this matter.
Your exhausted mother
I’m well aware that when you go to college this house is going to be very, very quiet. There will be a day coming all too soon when you won’t want to snuggle or tell me another story. The next time you are telling me your plans for the day for 143rd time, could you please start by reminding me that one day I’ll miss not hearing it? Thanks!
I think that’s it for now… most everything is off my chest. Boy that feels better!