Poop, iPhone Cases, and Axe Body Spray: My Sincere Thank-Yous

by Camille on August 28, 2015

Hey folks! Life has been rather busy the past few weeks. There are BIG HAPPY EXCITING things I’m dying to tell you all about, but I have to follow protocols and wait just a bit longer. There are also several SERIOUS CHALLENGING WEIGHTY subjects rolling around in my upstairs brain, but I currently have limited time and want to write about something fluffy. So I’m going to steal.

I recently finished Jen Hatmaker’s latest book, For the Love, and perhaps I will share a full review later. But for now, I’d like to say it made me laugh out loud, and who doesn’t need that? I particularly appreciated the book’s several chapters of thank-you notes–Jimmy Fallon style. And since she clearly admits that imitation is the greatest form of flattery, here’s my own little tribute to Jen and Jimmy.

Thank-You Notes

Thank you, Axe-body spray, the sacred anointing oil for every teenage boy (and girl) who joins this family. You are the air we breathe. (Really. You have consumed all oxygen in this home in some odoriferous reaction.)  Now I know the scents of Dark Temptation, Anarchy, Phoenix, and Apollo, and I find them all strangely representative of Irish Spring…if the soap were to enter into a loveless marriage with Seabreeze. You creep through the house, adhering to every surface, impairing my ability to breathe and my will to live, but hey, based on the look of the Diaper Genie, you may the lesser of two evils. Love, Mom’s Nose.

Thank you, my son who insists on sleeping with our pets. I love discovering that the cat has been trapped in your room for 24-hours after your departure to college. After all, accessible litter boxes are for privileged felines, and we don’t coddle pretentious aristocats around here. P.S. The corner of your room could use some Axe. Best wishes, Mom

Thank you, children who take my silverware to work and school and friends and outer space, never to return.  I’m down to two-ish spoons, but hey, plastic really cuts down on washing time. You are so thoughtful. Love, Mom Who Better Start Finding More Finger-Food Recipes.

Thank you, baby poop. You keep life real and give me so many opportunities to practice humility. My kid is in an “I only want to eat blueberries and fiber-loaded pea crisps” stage, so we are frequent visitors. Before my first cup of coffee. Two bites into dinner. On the way out the door when I’m already late. I get it. You are the boss. And when my 25-lb child is thrashing like a rabid anaconda, you are so generous with your lessons, literally just reaching out and touching everyone. Thanks for the stellar example. And no, that is not chocolate on my face.

Thank you, Lifeproof phone case. Turns out, your definition of “life” did not include my teething 14-month-old, but we appreciate the opportunity to provide the exception that proves the rule. Oh, and we humbly suggest you call Sophie the Giraffe for some survival tips.

Thank you mom, for keeping every single scrap of paper I touched during my entire childhood. Sorting through those boxes was wicked fun, especially when I found all those dazzling pictures of myself from the seventh grade. I mean, everyone wants to re-live middle school, right? Stay Cool, Crazy-Haired Camille.

Thank you, pistachios, for leading me to a self-diagnosis of misophonia. After the children are tucked in bed and the house is quiet for the first time all blessed day, my beloved husband pours your delectable offerings into a bowl and proceeds to chomp away. Right. next. to. me. And while the skittering-crunchy-snap-smack may not register to some, it sounds to me like an orchestra from the bowels of snacking hell. Also, I have retrieved no less than a dozen of your discarded shells from the depths of my baby’s chipmunk-like cheeks, but what fabulous motivation to never put down the vacuum! Sincerely, Wife Wearing Headphones.

Thank you, size 2 people in my home that bake homemade chocolate chip cookies and bring home barely touched cheesecakes. I pity you and your tiny, baby metabolisms that burn 1,000 calories as you put on your Sephora mascara to head to the gym. My wiser, seasoned metabolism says “Pass me the yoga pants and another slice of cake!” And no, I did not eat the last cookie. With Affection, Mom Who Sometimes Lies About Cookies.

Okay folks, that’s it for now, but I’d love to see your thank-yous in the comments. Love to all!

 

{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }

Tiffany August 29, 2015 at 5:40 pm

Thank you, real pasta & gelato in Italy, for making my pants uncomfortably tight. You were worth it, and you are the motivation I need to get reacquainted with the gym. Love,
in my 30’s for real.

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