There's been plenty of times, like when we were reading Harry Potter for the first time and I had promised not to get ahead of them so we could all be surprised and scared and excited together, and Lefty would stop me and I'd be all, "WHUCK?! We're right at the part when they're about to find out who the Half Blood Prince is!!" and then I'd sorta cheat and keep reading and they only found out because I fell asleep in Lefty's bed with the book open to a page that was like 127 pages past where I had stopped. Now they take the book away. Little Snitches.
But after all these years of reading and just going along with it all, I actually do have a few questions:
Dear Jack & Annie's Parents,
We know you're sorta around. We hear you beckoning them for PB&Js and that it's time for a bath or bed or stuff like that. And I think it's super cool you built them a Magic Tree House (that apparently you still don't realize is magic). Mostly I think this is awesome because I always wanted a tree house but we didn't have trees where I grew up. We had cactuses. [Editor's Note: I KNOW. That's not how you say it. But I'm tired of saying, "we had cacti..." because then people squinch up their faces and wonder if antibiotics were necessary. I'd rather them correct my grammar than think I'm harboring germs. -Kate] And trust me when I say you don't want to climb a cactus. My sister Bianca once accidentally stepped on those dome-y looking ones to make a phone call at a pay phone, and instead of the spikes just breaking under her, about ten jillion of them stabbed through the bottom of her sneakers into her foot. Umm, who's bright idea was it to put a cactus in front of a pay phone?
Anyway, I digress. Aren't you a little concerned? If not for the fact that your kids go venturing off into the world at random hours, but that -- well, don't you feel like, when they're gone that time kinda comes to a crawl? Or, possibly stops?? Because when I'm left alone in my house, I don't know what time vortex I hit, but that time vanishes! I barely get to enjoy the silence and WHAM! they're back. Wait. They're gone for hours, but to me it feels like seconds?? Crap.
Well, now that I've figured that one out...any concern that your tree house vanishes? No? OK, then.
Dear Runaway Bunny,
I think you possibly may need a spanking.
Dear Victoria's Secret,
I know. You're a catalog and not actually a story nor do you remotely resemble literature. But Happy is like the mail thief and when I come into his room to read to him, he's got this giddy look of anticipation on his face and I'm all, "what book tonight, buddy?" and he whips it out from its hiding place and is all, "THE BOOBY BOOK!" and then I'm like "ewww, you're already hiding the Victoria's Secret catalog in your room?" and abjectly refuse to read The Booby Book as a bedtime story. So then he just evicts me and his Daddy is more than happy to read it and all I hear for the next 25 minutes is "Oooh, boobies" after every turn of the page and stuff like "...straps can be configured seventeen different ways to..."
I guess what I'm asking here is, maybe tell a story? In the margins perhaps?
Dear V. H. Caterpillar,
It would be super if you just ate the whole apple or strawberry or even the chocolate cake. Because my four year old thinks it's just fine to take one bite of something and then leave the rest and move on to the next yummy food that crosses his path. And, frankly, I'm tired of grabbing an apple out of the fruit bowl and finding his teeth marks in it.
By the way, Lefty learned about you at school, and taught his little brother that when you turn into a butterfly, you're "pupating" -- super. That doesn't sound gross at all.
PS You also ate through my book. There are holes everywhere. Can you please send a replacement?
Dear Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle,
First, I love you and wish you were real because I would send the my children to you on a regular basis. And the truth is, I use a lot of your lessons, like the Teeny-Tiny Biter-Takers Cure and the Talker Backer Cure, minus the parrot; I just mimic them and it seems to work.
Oh, and I give you a really awesome voice. You're British, by the way. And one time, a colleague from work called my house and Lefty answered and he got all BIG EYED and yelled, "MOM! MRS. PIGGLE WIGGLE IS ON THE PHONE!!!" and was super excited and then scared because he thought that meant I had called you to fix them. Which just goes to prove that I do an awesome British accent.
So, beside the fact that I feel that your feet are far far too small to support the rest of you, I really only have one question. Xanax? And, if yes, what's the dosage? [Editor's Note: It's a follow-up question. That's *totally* allowed. -Kate]
Finally, just as an aside, I'd really love it if someone would do a mash-up of all these books. I'm pretty sure it would be awesome. I wonder what Mrs. PiggleWiggle would say to the catalog models. I have a feeling it would be something called the No-Jiggle Button-Up Cure and the Magic Tree House could take them to TJ Maxx for a shirt.
(c)Herding Turtles, Inc. 2009 - 2010