Do you think Dear Carolyn made it up, or do you think there is really a woman out there who could write this letter?
Wait . . . maybe Dear Tacoma isn't a woman . . . maybe it's a male friend. I don't know. Either way, I think I should follow Tacoma around for seven days straight, pound on the bathroom door the entire time Tackie is on the toilet or in the shower, screaming for chocolate milk, but when she gets it, I'll dump it down the sink and say I wanted it hot, and then the new cup will be too cold, and then I'll want ice with the next one and then I'll say Tacoma, Tacoma, Tacoma, in a really highpitched whine, mispronouncing her name every time in what should be a cute little accent, but isn't, until Tacoma finally says what?!! then say, oh, I forgot, but start all over the minute Tacoma tries to remember what she was doing. I'll sneeze in her food and beg for bites even though I just threw mine across the room onto her carpet and she had to spend twenty minutes looking for the cleaning supplies because I got into those the minute I came through her door, and she forgot where she hid them because I haven't stopped talking since she did and she wants to scream, but she can't because I'm so darn cute and really, I just want to know why. I'll go to the "library, grocery store and drycleaners" with her and see if she can ever show her face at any of those places again when we're done.
Really? Has this woman never seen a child in action? Never been a child herself, that she thinks her new-mom friend is using the kid as an excuse to RELAX AND ENJOY???????? Have you ever seen a relaxed mother? Even sound asleep we don't relax.
Oooooh… I so want a day with Tacoma.