Dearest P,

I’ve often wondered about the veracity of the information contained in those kind of daily informational emails I receive from my mother.  But as you have so clearly discerned the true facts, I will never again be a doubting Thomas.  I can only, through my own hard-earned experience, add the following:

1)  Don’t even think of driving a mini-van!  There are simply too many ingress/egress opportunities for evil doers.  A sports coupe with children in the trunk is a much safer bet.

2)  Don’t lick a fence–even when most tempted to do so.  My boys (including hubby) have probably peed on it.

3)  Finally–and this is perhaps more a strategy than a safety issue–feigning death to rid your home of unwanted guests does, in fact, work very well. 

Oh, by the way, it turns out that I just had a fainting spell this weekend when the oldballandchain stopped by and wasn’t dead after all!  No need to speak of it again.  Can’t wait for our next gathering.

Faithfully,

C. 

Dear C,

Do you know of a good way to deal with the thirty-odd emails I am expected to respond to on burning issues of the day?  To give you just a sample:

1. Whether or not to divide burgeoning girl scout troupe into two, thereby creating an automatic hierarchy of ‘who’s in’, ‘who’s out’ that will last my daughters’ contemporaries through high school (the answer is maybe, depending on whether or not my child gets into the ‘right’ group);
2. Whether or not I am going to spend my Saturday night baking up a storm in order to make $1.50 for the Hurricane Katrina neighborhood bake sale (the answer is yes);
3. Whether or not as one of the editors of the prestigious school newsletter, we should exclude any and all mention of the regional spelling bee champion in our publication, on the grounds that she might make the other students feel bad (the answer is yes – power at last!);
4. Whether or not I can stick a poster up announcing the upcoming neighborhood yard sale without being arrested and/or forced to sell my house (the answer is no – other people need to exert power too).

Doubtless, you private school types have minions to deal with this kind of thing, which is why you can focus on work and afford to send your offspring to such establishments in the first place. Me, I’m rooting for the Taliban to win, so we can all go back to working with tablets and chisels.

Faithfully,

P.

Dear Ms. P,

Although C finds your endless, I do mean insightful, correspondence fascinating, she is engaged in a number of high level matters which do not allow a response at this time (although I’m not free to disclose this to anyone else, I trust you may know she has simply taken to her bed).  Please feel free to continue your endless blabbing, I mean blogging, as she will, at some time or another, review the essence of your communication and find some very limited moment to comment further on your substantial burdens.

C also asked that I communicate how much additional credit you would receive as a wife and mother if you took all these burning matters to a non-existent outside-the-home office and corresponded from there.  Although you would do nothing but deal with girl scout and neighborhood sale issues, the larger world would find your position much more sympathetic.  Unfortunately, most now have the view of you, sitting on the couch eating bonbons, overwhelmed by the usual burdens of any suburban mother.  Don’t feel the need to throw the tea set away just yet.  Just think about it. 

Faithfully,

C’s Minion

Dear C,

Just thought you might care for a little insight into the respective to-do lists of your favorite boorish neighbors down the street:

Me:

1. Respond to flurry of emails asking for food/clothing donations for Hurricane Katrina. Gather up selection of innappropriately short/tight dresses and tops before opting to send check instead.
2. Fake homemade child’s birthday card for teacher.
3. Fake orgasm with spouse.
4. Make appt. for hair, nails & fake tan.
5. Organize disco party at home for seven-year old – coordinate invitations, disco ball, karaoke machine, teenagers to do hair and make-up; re-arrange entire house to accommodate 20 screaming pre-teens; bake homemade cake.
6. Cancel all plans for above soiree, and book local bowling alley at vast expense.
7. Organize school picnic.
8. Cancel school pinic because of rain.
9. Postpone all work to take care of the above.
10. Publish Pulitzer-prize winning novel and achieve greatness before turning 40.

Oldballandchain:

1. Sleep-in after hard day’s travel (basically, reading on flight to and from brief meeting in Atlanta).
2. Read newspaper in bed.
3. Commute to office (upstairs).
4. Make phone call.
5. Ask what’s for lunch.
6. Watch tennis.
7. Play tennis.
8. Naptime.
9. Ask what’s for dinner.
10. Finish reading novel in bed.

Hope your day is looking as fun-filled as mine!

Faithfully,

P.

P,

You do know that I’m never one to burst your bubble, but it’s immediately apparent that you are not only faking an orgasm with the wrong spouse as the oldballandchain mentions nothing in his "to do" list about sex (unless "watching or playing tennis" is a euphemism for same) but also spending your time in ways that cannot be described as furthering the most important goal of any wife and mother: personal satisfaction.  I do hate to be the one to tell you, dearest P, but writing anything by the age of 40 may be a stretch as you are forced to also schedule the increasingly necessary "beauty enhancements" required of any matronly, I do mean motherly, woman.

On a more positive note, I can share with you the secrets I’ve been keeping all these years about how to maintain a semblance of family life while achieving all of your own glorious potential (which we assume does exist for the purposes of this tutorial).  You may suggest, dearest P, that perhaps I should be more successful in my own right if, in fact, I followed my own mandates but it is a complicated formula and one not always conducive to secret addictions to chocolate and alcoholic beverages containing cranberry flavoring.  I am, in the end, my favorite friend, only an aspiring success, and leave to you the actual perfection of the plan.

To Do:

1)  Report to spouse your midnight awakening by "insert name of child" and the necessity for additional sleep in the morning (How could he not have heard?  You are, of course, just so happy not to have disturbed his increasingly necessary beauty sleep).

2) After the extended lying in, discuss loudly and often the burdensome nature of your household duties while immediately (and quietly) calling the various personal assistants assigned to carry out said duties.  If budgetary constraints are an issue, remember that this is America and there is a wonderful thing called credit which almost everyone can get. 

3) Next, disappear for hours while "working" on the various domestic tasks while relaxing and "mostly" enjoying the necessary beauty treatments (see above for reference to why  this is so important).

4)  Never miss an opportunity to "network" with anyone else’s wealthy spouse as they may find your attention to personal beauty an attractive addition to their own household (I’m sure wife #1 would love to serve as nanny).

5) If all of this isn’t enough, feign some illness caught by the lingering of ecoli which must have wafted in from the Big Easy and take to your bed, yet again.  It is, in the end, always the default position and a great way to escape all necessary evils: faking orgasms, teacher cards and even love for the family.

Deceitfully and Yet Faithfully Yours,

C.