Dear Santa,

Do you see the fairy? Do you?!!! I don't even care what it smells like. Although it sounds very promising and Kelli-ish. From the website: "Faerie - A sparkling fragrance with a blend of violets, blackcurrant, Bulgarian Rose, Egyptian Jasmine, and Iris Butter that whirl with whimsy within the spectacular flacon to reveal the timeless spirit of Van Cleef & Arpels."

Whatever. Do you see that fairy? Sitting on a tree branch? See her? Bring her to me. Please.

Love,
Kelli

Dear Fashion Industry

True, I'm not a style icon. Certainly not since I had children and don't have the time or energy to put together an outfit that consists of anything more mature than a T-shirt, cuffed up jeans (because they are too long) and goofy sneakers. More often I look like a Pez-chomping high-school boy than a 30-year old mother. But I try. And I spend more time than I should perusing fashion magazines and drooling over the wardrobes of many a celebrity. Maybe I don't dress for my body type, but that's because I don't like blazers and my boobs bust the seams of any button-down top you could give me, and because I have an affinity for large, colorful prints and flowy lines. So with some exceptions, like this 80s trash you keep trying to shove down my throat, I'll buy most of your ideas, in theory if not in pocketbook. But I simply must address a grave concern of mine. Maybe I'm in the minority, but you couldn't get any of these ankle boots on my feet unless it was on my cold, dead body, and good luck even then. I'm sorry, but they are ugly. They don't look good with mini-dresses or cropped pants. Truly, I think I've never seen anything uglier in my whole life. I think I'd wear feathered, sky-high bangs before I'd lace one of those babies up. I mean, I love Little House on the Prairie as much as the next gal, but this ain't the prairie with a long dress to cover them up, and I ain't Half Pint.

Also, what's up with the Oxford booties, hmm? That's really pushing it, you know. I mean, that's a very easy line to cross straight into Hideous Town, Uglyville County U.S.A. I almost like them, especially if they are like these. Very cute, indeed. But tread carefully, my friends. Tread very carefully. And the peep-toe bootie thing? Just stop. Stop it now before you hurt yourself. Or my corneas.

Love,
Kelli

Dear Lady at the Library,

Thanks so much for your concern over my baby on this cold day. But I don't think I need your advice. I happen to think he can handle being out in the cold. See that? What he's wearing? That's called a coat. I assume you don't know since you aren't wearing one yourself. I wasn't aware that when the temperature dropped I was supposed to shut my kids inside the house in isolation and turn the heater up to 208 degrees. It's 40 degrees outside, not 40 below. Please, next time, save your nasty looks and ugly words for someone who needs the advice. Hey, while you are here, why don't you go inside and check out a book on manners, or baby care? Have a lovely day.

Love,
Kelli

Dear Lady with THE Car,

Hey, you. Yeah, you, with the gold Ford Taurus. Look, I just can't take it anymore. Can you, like, get your car fixed? Seriously? I mean, every morning I think someone has tied a woman to their car with ropes and is dragging her down the street, and that she's holding a megaphone as she screams in pain and terror. It's not funny anymore. At first, haha, yeah, it was like demons ascending from Hell, pursued by shrieking she-devils. But now, it's a woman screaming. Your car is giving me nightmares. Stop the torture. Doesn't it bother you? When you are driving your car, CAN'T YOU HEAR THAT? Doesn't it sound like your worst fears being acted out by a car? Haven't you seen the movie, "Christine?" You know, that movie based on the book by Steven King? Yeah, that Steven King. The one who writes HORROR stories. Do you want the plot to "Christine" to come true? You look like a nice lady, and your car looks great. (Except for that gold color. Maybe fix that, too.) But just do me a little favor, drive that screaming possessed piece of hellish machinery down to friggin' Pep Boys. I don't care how much it costs. (Heck, if you are worried about money, we have a great cheap mechanic. He's Mormon, so he won't cheat you or anything. In theory, at least.) Once it's fixed, come over. I'll make you some cookies. Maybe we can be friends. But as long as my mornings sound like I'm living in the seventh circle of hell, or in a serial killer's basement, you are no friend of mine.

Love,
Kelli

Dear Universe,

Please send me something to write about. But nothing bad. Nothing tragic.

Love,
Kelli

Shia, Shia, Shia

Dear Shia Lebeouf,

I've documented my appreciation for you here. And then I felt even more strongly for you when you said this: "Part of me wants to go out and see my peers. But if I go to a club and get my picture in the press, then I am that young Hollywood a--hole. That would shatter my world…. There's no way you get Tom Hanks' career without thinking about this stuff... Everyone turns 21. Not everyone gets to be in Indiana Jones." I thought, wow, he has some sense. He's going to have a great career with his talent and that attitude. What a nice young man. (Apparently I was channeling old ladies that day.) Alas, it was not to be. You've gone and, what's that you said? Acted like a young Hollywood a--hole. Shape up, Lebeouf. Don't make me come out there and beat you with a wire hanger.

Love,
Kelli
P.S. You are totally cute. But you are no Ryan Gosling.

Letters in Twos

Dearest Fynn of Mine,
Please take a nap longer than 25 minutes. We'll all be happier.
Love,
Mommy

Dearest Ewan of My Heart,
Please stop yelling while Fynn is sleeping. Then he can take a nap longer than 25 minutes and we'll all be happier. And you and I can play badminton.
Love,
Mommy