I wrote this about a year ago, when my mother was in Florida taking care of my grandparents.  She was away for two months, and while it was the most stressful time of my life I came away from the experience with a greater appreciation for my mother.  And take-out.

Dear Dad,

I’m sorry to be the one to destroy your childlike sense of wonder, for it is one of the things I love most about you, but seeing as we have just celebrated your 56th birthday, I think it’s time you know the truth: There is no dish fairy. It’s been mommy all along. I’ve tried to keep the illusion going since she’s been in Florida, but it’s been increasingly difficult not to throttle you when I see you put a dirty dinner plate in the sink. You have a successful career, and did well all through school (except for that “D” in hygiene when you were 10) so I am dumfounded when you can’t figure out how to turn on the washing machine, empty or fill the dishwasher, clear your plate (let alone remove it from the dinner table), empty the garbage, get the mail, bring in the garbage cans (no, leaving them behind my car in the driveway does not count.), OR REALIZE THAT THE KITCHEN FLOOR IS WET BECAUSE I HAVE JUST MOPPED IT. (Never mind that it has completely changed color from when you went upstairs to nap.)


I realize this probably comes as a great shock. I’ll give you 15 minutes to mourn the last bit of your childhood. After that you can clean out the refrigerator, do the grocery shopping (don’t worry I made the list…baby steps), clean your bathroom, vacuum a floor somewhere in the the house, EMPTY THE DISHWASHER FOR GOD’S SAKE, and take me out for dinner. I could go for IHOP.