A letter to my children

If you are a child (or disillusioned adult) reading this, I would like to warn you ahead of time that I am about to dispel a popular myth. It is for your own good that I write this.

It has come to my attention that you, my children, believe in a magical item that just does not exist. I believe in letting children be children and we believe in many things in our house. The Tooth Fairy, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the fairies who live in our woods are all welcome, and their right to exist defended, in our home. But I can not let this one belief go on for one minute more.

Brace yourself everyone. There is no such thing as the magical, self-refilling, toilet paper roll. I know that this is hard for you to believe and you are rolling your eyes at me like you always do, but it just does not exist. I can only conclude that you fully believe in its existence because none of you ever put a new roll of toilet paper on.

I have seen the impatience and looks of frustration on your faces as I yell at you through the bathroom door to go get me some toilet paper from the closet. I know that in your mind, you are telling me to just sit and wait patiently and the roll will magically appear on the wall next to me. All those times that you left the bathroom with the toilet paper roll empty, and returned to find it full again, it was me. I did it, not magic and not a house fairy (they don't like toilets).

When you are ready to accept this truth we can have a lesson on how to do this yourself. I implore you to please come to me so we can have a heartfelt discussion about this. If you do not learn this life skill soon, you will be stuck in your own apartment some day without toilet paper near by. And remember, I do this because I love you.

Act your age

It was our morning tradition for years. Every day as I sent my kids off to school I would smile and yell, "I love you! Have fun today!" They would always turn around and wave and tell me they love me too. One day my youngest daughter, Julia (who we describe as a party in a box), responded with, "You have fun today too!" Thus, a new tradition was born. No matter how hectic the morning, no matter how much yelling and gnashing of teeth involved, I could count of Julia to smile and wave and yell with enthusiasm "You have fun today too!"

One ordinary morning like every other morning, missing library books, three different lunch orders, last minute papers to sign, I looked at them all and gave them my customary send off. Then it happened. Julia smiled wide, looked at me with her dancing eyes and said, "You have fun today too, washing dishes and stuff. He! He! He!" I was floored. My youngest, most precious, loving child just mocked me, and she relished it. My mind was spinning and with my years of wisdom and patience I retorted, "Oh yeah! Well I'm working at the bookstore today, so there!"

Before I knew it I could feel my tongue move inside my mouth and begin to push against the back of my teeth as my lips started to part. In my head I suddenly heard my mom saying, "Stephanie Lea, act your age!" I froze and smiled while everyone laughed, and the whirlwind that is my family headed for the bus stop. My witty retort, along with the fact that I almost stuck out my tongue, made me realize that I had just temporarily regressed into a six year child. I had thoroughly failed to "act my age". And it felt great!