An Open Letter

I'm sure there's a bumper sticker or t-shirt somewhere that says: "Baseball isn't a sport. It's a way of life." (If not, I've got dibs.)

It's a true statement. And I know parents of athletes in any sport can insert their sport in place of "baseball" and will agree. We love it. We love watching our kids, cheering them on, supporting them, consoling them, transporting them, sometimes coaching them. But our parallel life sometimes gets neglected.

And when I can write the word "Hi!" in dust on the coffee table, I know a lot of things got neglected.

This letter's for you...

Dear House: I see you've been busy while we were gone. Look at all the junk mail and bills you let drop in and stay on the counter top. And how did that dirt get on the floors and carpet when no one's been around? You gotta start taking better care of yourself!

Dear Bills: I bet you're glad we're back. I'd love to kiss you and send you on your way... but I haven't had time to buy stamps in awhile. Give me a day or two and I'll get you where you want to go.

Dear Grass: My, how you have grown! We'll give you a good buzz as soon as we get our lawn mower back. It got overworked and petered out when hubby tried to cut you down to size the other night. Trust me, he'll be back!

Dear Bees: The world is a big place. Why did you have to settle in and build a home inside the walls of our hot tub? That's a cruel joke. Really cruel. Not sure how we're going to evict you, but your rent is overdue!

Dear Family: How's everyone doing? I hope everyone's OK. Just because we have carried on a one-way conversation this summer through my blog, doesn't mean I've just been thinking about us or our lives. (Close, though.) I did manage to get 5 out of 5 birthday cards sent in the last month so you know I'm thinking about you. (P.S. So that's where my darn stamps went!)

Dear Waistline: You're starting to grow on me. But we gotta do something about you! No more ballpark food for you! Except maybe the ice cream part. Just a little. Once in awhile. Like only days that end in "Y."

Dear Camera: I have fallen head over heels for you this summer. I think my husband knows about us, though. Perhaps we need to spend a little time apart. Just a little. I'll make sure we rendezvous in the Sunshine State later this month.

Dear Laundry: We've got to do something about this depression. You need to just pick yourself up off the floor and... get into the washer. Or at least the hamper. Let's make some progress here!

Dear Plants: RIP.