(Many moons ago, Dave and I insisted that Ben start drinking milk with dinner every night, a move that was fraught with peril. Ben was insistant that he would someday fly to Hawaii where I could not find him to make him drink his milk. He swore that he would take Alex and Dave and move away, somewhere that I could not find them and make them drink their milk.)

This is what came home with Ben yesterday,

Dear Mom and Dave,

Love,
Ben

I nearly laughed out loud when he got to the part about the milk, because that kid was FURIOUS with my insistance upon drinking his equivilant of battery acid, so much so that I had to call in for backup: Nat, to help me out.

If I had to write a letter to give to someone to give thanks, it might look like this. Well, actually, it probably wouldn’t, because I don’t like to write letters.

Dear Internet,

Thank you for not making me travel this Thanksgiving, as I cannot sleep in hotel rooms, BECAUSE I AM A FREAK.

Thank you for Fat-Free Coffee Mate (Vanilla OR Hazelnut), Healthy Life Bread, 150 Calorie Mini-Cakes, and McDonalds.

Thank you for YoBaby yogurt, which has allowed me such freedoms as occasionally letting my nipples go back into their rightful place, UNDER MY SHIRT, NOT FLAPPING IN THE BREEZE. Also, thank you to Pampers, for attempting to contain my son’s toxic ass.

Thank you for building a Target so close to my home, so that I may spend my life savings (hahaha) on frivolous stuff that I never knew that I needed but now cannot live without.

Thank you for finally breaking our nomadic moving patterns, and allowing us to live in the same zip code for over one year (although I’d imagine that U-Haul is not thankful for this, as I have not spent an insane amount of money on boxes lately).

Thank you (in advance!!) to Burberry for making the earmuffs (hahaha, MUFF!) that I will recieve for Christmas, that matches the scarf that I recieved last year.

Thank you Tiffany & Co for the lovely aniversary jewelry. Can I divorce Dave and marry you? I know that’s a bit forward, but I’ve loved you for a long time, and I know that you feel the same.

And of course, thank you for allowing me to run the Sausage Factory, each of whom makes my cold ickle heart grow larger and more complete each day. I’m looking at you, The Daver, Ben-a-bo, and Bubbly-Tubbles (yes, not only do my children have about a thousand names on their birth certificate, but they also have a plethora of nicknames).

Love,
Becky

(Happy Thanksgiving, bitches, Aunt Becky loves you!)