Your dad and I are very busy this week. The first few days of the week we had company, and now your dad has been going out in the field for work and I've been working on some big projects of my own.
But this afternoon, you and I ran into town to hit the bank, the post office, the craft store to pick up the framing stuff I ordered, the Target pharmacy (where we ran into Aunt Brynn and Uncle Nate), Staples (because Target was sold out of our printer toner), and Lowe's (because I HAD to buy something that will keep you from opening the screen door and jetting outside in 0.2 seconds flat).
Speaking of a lot on our plate, we also met Brynn and Nate for dinner at the barbecue place where you ate a peanut butter sandwich, half a corn muffin, three tablespoons of mashed potatoes and some of your uncle's fries. Now that I read that, we're going to have to give serious consideration to putting you on the Adkins Diet.
In last week's Newsweek, there was an article about sleep deprivation that suggested if an adult only gets 5 or 6 hours of sleep every night instead of the recommended 8 or 9, by the end of the week he or she will have the same cognitive ability as someone who has been awake for 48 hours straight. This is your dad and me ALL. THE. TIME. I tell you that statistic as a segue into this little story: Last week, I washed my cell phone in the washing machine. So today, I also had to buy a new cell phone. I bought the one labelled "Rugged" that's designed for use on construction sites. I figure the 3-ft radius around a 10-month old should qualify as a demolition area.
We ran out of time today to call Philip and be sure he made it home okay, but I'm guessing he's already back in his shop telling people how unbearably frigid Montana is - probably throwing in phrases like "arctic tundra" and "...but there was ice on the porch! In JULY!!" And probably to hear him tell it, our road is crawling with bears. OK, that part's true. And the ice on the porch thing? Also true. In any case, we hope he's home safe and sound and not still asleep on the shuttle to Warner Robbins.
Love,
Mom
Great letter!
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