>Cranky Panky

>Note to friend of my 15-year-old stepdaughter: Do not call at 6am to tell us it’s a snow day. We realized this when lots of snow fell the night before. We will hear the phone ring and think someone has died and rush to answer it and not fall back asleep until 7am.

Note to baby: If mommy has fallen back asleep at 7am, do not wake up at 7:15am and start singing loudly. Also, do not become emotionally scarred by having to play in your crib until 7:45 when mommy finally drags herself out of bed to release you from your padded prison.

Note to husband: If I wake up and tell you that a) I’m very tired and b) I have a stomachache from the portobello panini we had at Panera last night, don’t keep coming up to me asking if I’ve gone poo poo yet. It’s irritating. And when you have explosive diarrhea later in the day, rather than feeling sympathetic, I’ll probably just think to myself that it was karma paying you a visit.

Note to my 15-year-old stepdaughter: When you have a snow day, that does not mean it’s time to call all your friends and plan out all the places I am going to take you to in order to meet them, particularly when your mom is supposedly coming at 1pm to pick you up. For me, it is still the day before I leave town. And I have lots of stuff to do.

Note to my 12-year-old stepdaughter: What in God’s name made you think it was okay to sharpen your pencils on the playroom closet floor? Who did you think was going to have to clean that up in time for play group yesterday morning?

Note to mean old man who dialed my cellphone by mistake: You’re an asshole. And no, I don’t believe this is the first mistake you’ve made this year.

Note to self: I’m not sure it was such a good idea to dye my hair by myself on top of the $130 highlights I had done six weeks ago. I’m very concerned something’s about to go very wrong the day before I leave to visit my uber-stylish out-of-town friends (you know who you are).

Note to my uber-stylish out-of-town friends: Since I’m in confessional mode, you should know that I have nothing cute to wear and my eyebrows and nails look horrible. I’m worried that you’re going to be horrified when you see the extent of my unstylishness, particularly if something goes very wrong with my hair. My car is dirty too. So you might want to change any reservations you’ve made to a nice, out-of-the way Applebee’s. As long as they make unfashionably pink and frothy alcoholic drinks, I’ll understand.

Note to BoB: I’m pretty sure you are driving at least some of the Mommy Blogger finalists to the brink of madness. The frontrunner is practically begging to be relieved of her agony. I personally managed to release both the status of my hoo ha and my bra size in the space of a week. Daring Young Mom got a freakin’ mullet. And even the irrepressible Penny Pressed has begun feeding her puppy beer and photographing the results in a last-ditch effort to get more votes. Please. Stop the madness. Why not just declare all of us Losers?

Note to laptop: Please stop making those alien life-form sounds. You’re scaring me. And if you die, a part of me will die too. Namely the part that downloaded about 500 baby pictures onto you and hasn’t yet backed them up.

Note to readers: I love all of you, whether you’ve been here one day or 100. If I haven’t visited your site in a while or ever, I’m sorry. I’m trying. Don’t give up on me.