Dear Diary...

Dear Diary,

As I tucked two of my boys into bed last night, I saw things that made me ponder. OK, Diary.....if there is anyone I can be frank with, it's you, right? So let's cut the crap. These things were a bit disturbing to me.

The first, and probably the most freakish, was my oldest son who I found attempting to sleep in a box that was 1/4 of his size. Covered up with his favorite blankie (shhhh, don't let his homies know), he was well on his way to dreamland. I asked why he chose to sleep in a box, to which I was awarded the proverbial 'I dunno'. I offered a lecture about the hidden dangers of sleeping in a box and included a motivational speech titled, " You can do so much more with your life....honestly, how many famous contortionists to you actually know?" I closed my arguments with a kiss and said good night.




As I moved across the hall, I came to my son, Jack's, bed. There I found a pile of stuffed animals that would make the Himalayas pale in comparison. We managed to shove the pile the the far corner of his bed in an effort to create enough room for him to breathe as he slept. The twisted and tangled heap no longer looked like a beautiful mountain range, but quickly resembled that of a pet cemetery. Although he is our animal lover extraordinaire/stuffed animal hoarder, I hear by ban all friends and family members from purchasing anything 'stuffed' for Jack until further notice. All who break this rule shall suffer a S L O W and PAINFUL death. (OK, forget the death part, but may you at least feel some sort of pain.)



Thanks for listening, diary. Until we talk again,
Amy