Open Letter to the Idiot Who Almost Made Mrs Fussy Crankypants Smash Into Him Because He Doesn’t Know How To Drive in the Snow

Dear Idiot:

It came rapidly to Mrs Fussy Crankypants’ (aka, Grumpy Pregnant Woman) attention that you do not know how to drive in the snow.

Let’s have a little basic science lesson to ameliorate this situation, shall we?

“Snow” (that white stuff that falls from the sky; look around you, there’s a bit right now on the ground) is a kind of frozen water that falls onto the ground when it is very cold during the winter. This “snow” has a detrimental (“detrimental” means “bad”) effect on driving because it “interferes” (“interferes” means “messes with”) with “friction”.

“Friction” is a natural force that helps your car start, continue and stop.  So if “snow” “interferes” with “friction”, THAT means you can’t start, continue or stop as quickly (“quickly” means “fast”) as when it is not “snowy”.

So, when there is “snow” on the street, and you are trying to gun it across five lanes of traffic because you don’t want to wait and sit there spinning  your wheels in the “snow” while Mrs Fussy Crankypants (aka, Grumpy Pregnant Woman) heads straight toward and has to hit the brakes, that could cause an accident.

And, Mr. Idiot, Mrs Fussy Crankypants (aka, Grumpy Pregnant Woman) PROMISES that you do not want to make her hit you. You would EXTREMELY regret it. Mrs Fussy Crankypants has a whole TANKFUL of pent-up hormones that she does not get to vent nearly as often as she would like to via vast, long and inventive strings of invectives (that means, “bad words”) that she saves for emergency situations.

So, Mr. Idiot Who Doesn’t Know How To Drive in the Snow, the next time you are tempted to cut across five lanes of traffic because you are an idiot when it is snowy, please recall this little science lesson and be advised that you would do well to avoid at ALL COSTS forcing Grumpy Pregnant Women to broadside you.


Mrs. Fussy Crankypants
aka, Grumpy Pregnant Woman


Open Letter to the Man at the Post Office

Dear Man at the Post Office Who, Upon Watching MY PRECIOUS SON Cheerfully and Energetically Playing With His Fire Engine in the Post Office, Said “Imagine Spending the Next Twenty Years with That” To One of the Other Patrons,


B)  You have obviously never had kids.

C) People said the same thing about YOu when YOU were that age.

D) People STILL say the same thing about you when they see you with your Significant Other.

E) BITE ME again.


Mrs Fussy Crankypants

Dear Miles

Dear Miles,

I’m glad you can use hundreds of words. I’m glad you can spell your name out loud and count to 15 (almost. that pesky 13 is certainly a pain to sneak in there).  I’m glad you can accurately name a trapezoid, a helicopter, a bulldozer. 

I’m glad you are (usually) nice to the kitties and that you can kick a ball and that you love the slide, that you can leap tall buildings with a single bound and are faster than a speeding bullet (that part? yes, true. especially in a crowded public area).

I’m glad you like to read books and are interested in mama’s flowers (ok, that’s a mixed blessing, it’s true)


Enough with the not sleeping already.  I was just getting ready to tell the world how you had turned a corner. the first week of this month was amazingly restful.  Not unbroken sleep, it’s true, but just nursing and back to calm slumber.  I felt rested and peaceful and on top of the world. And also, patient and like I was the world’s most awesome mama.  And now?  Stop with the 2 and 3 hour night wakings!  I know you think it’s fun.  I know that because you TELL me that. Funny!  Haha!  Mama! Funny!

But, no. It’s not funny.  I like the OTHER Miles better, the sleeping one.  You probably like me A LOT better, too, when I am not morphing into Mrs Fussy Crankypants (altho an ice cold latte or other coffee-based frou-frou drink that I did not have to make myself goes a long way toward stopping the transformation dead cold).

So here’s to sleep, my young son.  Why not give the rapid development a break?  Slow down a bit, enjoy the sleep. You’ll learn all that other stuff eventually, like reading and writing and how to put together a train engine. It’s not a race.

So try some nice sleep. It’s really nice. I promise.



Dear Miles

Dear Miles,

I’ve been thinking about telling you this for awhile now. I don’t know when it first started but I’m sure it happened gradually. There was no exact date for it, no magic black and white square circled on my calendar as a momento, but nonetheless, it has happened.  And it seemed like a long time in coming.

I’m referring, of course, to you being the angelic little being who lights up my every day with your smiles and squeals and laughs and energy.  The fussying, crying, cranky, tyrranical (and did I mention fussy?) baby that you were not all that long ago has been replaced through some amazing metamorphic transformation by a gentle, friendly, happy, darling little boy.

Oh, you still have your moments, of course. I blame them on toddler-ness but in all honesty you come by them honestly and, frankly, they are few and far between and relatively short-lived.

In a word, my sweet angel, you are….easy.

I had no idea that word would ever apply to you but it does.  And I’m glad.  I’m glad we can spend every day making your cars go zoom and drawing endless circles and sliding down the slide at the playground.  I’m glad that we are such good companions with each other. I never dread the thought of there being still 3 more hours till your dad gets home to help me or long for the weekend when I can get some “relief”.

Not that there weren’t wonderful times as a baby, but as you move rapidly toward your second year mark, you are more fascinating, more exciting, more and more fun each day.  Perhaps you got ALL your Fussy out the first year plus some.  I could believe it if that were true since there was SO MUCH Fussy.  I hardly even want to admit that you are a jewel, a gem, a joy, a treasure and easy because perhaps I’m tempting Fate.

But I’ll tell you anyway. Come what may, I will enjoy the present goodness to its fullest.

I think I have earned it.

My sweet darling boy, I am so enamored by you. I look forward to all the days we have left together of just You and Me.

I love you,  my precious




In Resolution Whereof

Mrs Fussy Crankypants hereby declares the intention to no longer eat 18 bazillion cups of homemade  granola aka “crack cocaine” per hour day and thereby reduce the distinct new belly bulge of which Mrs FC is the dubiously proud owner. 

Hereafter, be it know that “crack cocaine” will therefore now be consumed in manner and fashion befitting said limitations including but not limited to 1 yogurt/”crack cocaine” granola snack and/or “crack cocaine” granola ice cream topping per day (in recognition of which Mrs FC will hereupon buy adequate ice cream supplies to make up for the lack of crack cocaine granola).

Mrs Fussy Crankypants respectfully submits said declaration to all and sundry ad hominum i pluribus unim persona non grata carpe diem with liberty and justice for all amen.

Happy Mama’s Day…

Dear Mom:

Throughout my whole life you have supported me through good times and bad. You have been, in my view, a consistent model of what a good parent should and can be. Lord knows that it wasn’t always easy.

Although our relationship has changed throughout the years, I have continued and am continuing to learn more and more from you. This past year and half has shown me your worth not only as a mother but as a grandmother.

You are a true role model for me, always have been and always will be.  Your efforts have not been in vain, although I do say it myself (others may disagree, I am sure).

This day truly honors you and every mother, individuals who make sacrifices and whose job is never done, individuals whose value is too seldom recognized but of fundamental importance nonetheless.

Happy Mama’s Day…

…To all you mamas and mama-figures out there, Happy Mother’s Day. You work harder than anyone except another mother will ever know 🙂

And special thanks to La Grande Dame a la Fussy herself, my Mom, without whom none of this would have been possible:


An amazing mother

An amazing mother

A superlative Nana

A superlative Nana

18 months

18 months, you’ve been here for a week, almost. I meant to write to you sooner. I meant to tell you how long you have been in coming.  When we first started out, I never imagined that I could make it to 18 months.  All I could see was the crying and the fussying and sleep deprivation and the endless diapers and the endless walking, walking, walking at night.

18 months, YOU are what I signed up for, the sweetness and the chubby little arms around my neck saying ” ‘ug, ‘ug” as you hug me and I hug you.  Every new word, every new day exciting, and, frankly, a lot less work than a year ago. 

18 months, you run around hither and thither, you protest having to come inside from outdoors where you are exploring rocks and how rocks hit the ground when you throw them and how other things hit the ground when you throw them. You say, “no, no” to yourself as you do the very thing you were told “no” for in the first place.  Somehow you learned the word “pizza” and all that that tomato-y goodness implies.  You cry when the kitties fight.  You still nurse a lot, like its your favorite thing. I think it is.

You blow my mind with your sweetness, 18 months.  You make me glad that last year is over and that I keep falling more and more in love with you.  You make me shake my head with how amazing you are. You fascinate me with your learning. Your amazing baby intelligence keeps me wondering what you’ll do next.

I’m still not so keen on the nighttime stuff, 18 months, but someday I know you’ll get there.

18 months, you rock my world.

I love you.

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