Dear Saturday,

You really kicked my trash. Also, I really don’t like you. On another note, if you can help me come up with some kind of weekend-specific solution for Jack, that would be great.

Dear my back,

I am exercising the living daylights out of you, and yet, you still hurt so very much. Stop it right now, because I don’t have time for this.

Dear movie theatre,

You were far too overpopulated tonight, but I got to see Mockingjay with the hubs and my birthday teen, so I handled waiting in your giant lines for everything with aplomb. Sort of.

Dear fall,

You’re perfect. And fleeting.

Dear Jack,

Please be a good and happy boy for Thanksgiving. Please a) do not hurt anyone in the car en route to the cabin or b) refuse to wear shoes or a coat outside in the snow and cold. It’s all I ask.

Dear Thanksgiving,

I’m mulling you over. I’ve been shifting what I’m thankful for. It’s for experiences, like having a real-life angel save my life on the side of the road last spring.  Also, getting to teach college students about writing, which is the best. And being a mom to unusual children with a lot of life and personality among them.

I’m thankful I can work and raise children and write things and take the occasional afternoon nap.