Open Letter to the Bun

Dear Bun, LET GO OF MY LEG! Just for a minute or two. Just long enough for me to keep this scorching hot pan from sailing down on your head or at least long enough to make you some dinner. I can't walk when you're hanging on like an octopus. I can't get you milk (not that you drink it anyway). I can't get you crackers (which are crunching underfoot in the most unlikely of places). I can't actually do much of anything when you are HANGING ONTO MY LEG! So please let go. Just for a sec.

Also, the "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" sound is a little over the top. I can appreciate the need for non-language based forms of telling me you're frustrated, but this particular vowel can feel like a nail-gun being shot through my cerebral cortex.

You can keep the new facial expression, though. It's pretty fabulous. A mixture between "Omigod!" and excited elation, it melts the ice of my heart after you've been clinging to my leg for an entire afternoon. It's far better than the glare which was seriously beginning to freak me out. I'm glad the glare has been dragged to the dust-bin of bun history. Its replacement is an overall improvement.

So just let go of my leg and we'll be fine.

I love you,


PS: Tonight's display of walking was really something. Keep it up. But I was just giving you chunks of cookie to keep you from jumping in my lap one more time. It was my moment of truly bad mothering. Don't get used to that much cookie--and you can climb all over me as usual tomorrow after I've gotten a better night's sleep.