Family

Dear Ms. Cramblett, By now, you know thousands of people have heard your story about being impregnated by a donor you didn’t request. You specifically wanted a blonde hair, blue-eyed white donor who resembles your partner, but instead were given an African-American one. As a result, you now obviously have a biracial child. I want to begin by saying I understand you had a preference and you have a right to be upset that it wasn’t met. The bank was negligent and they should acknowledge their mistake and pay for it. Just as you wanted a child who resembles you and your partner, so do I want a black child that resembles me. But what I don’t seem to understand is your handling of the situation and the claims that this is an emotional and painful experience for you to go through....
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Dear Son, You are loved. You are worthy. If there are only two things I want you to always remember, these are it. As I type this letter you are sitting in your room playing with your little wood car. That's your favorite car. And ironically it is the only toy your father ever bought you. He bought it in your birth town in Brazil, two weeks before you were born. We left the beach and he saw it in a little local store. He picked up for you because it was handmade. During that moment I actually thought the three of us was going to be a family. Unfortunately things did not happened the way I dreamed it would, and this week, while watching Calliou calling his father, you asked where your own father was for the first time. I don't think you understood what your question meant...
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Hey Kids, Feel free to leave your stuff wherever you want this summer. Half-finished smoothies in the family room? No problem. I got it. Socks in the hall. I'm on it. Dishes in the sink? Keep 'em coming. Legos? Everywhere? Love it. Oh, and feel free to drag your blankets all over the house and abandon them the moment you no longer want them. I'll fold them lovingly for you and return them to your rooms. And doors? Shutting them is optional. I'm right behind you, so, seriously, don't worry about it. I love when the wasps get in and the air conditioning gets out. Who are we to be sequestered in our climate-controlled house? Open door policy in this house. We have endless money. And it's totally fine to leave your wet bathing suits and towels on any surface, from the floor to the...
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Dear Mom, It has been way too long since I have taken time to sit down to write you a letter. I'm actually not sure I have ever written you a letter. And I am 100% sure you have never been the subject of my blog. Sure, we chat when we are together and we have pleasant phone calls discussing this and that, but often that is surface stuff. Nothing wrong with surface stuff, I'm engaged, you're engaged, we laugh, I cry (I am working on toughening up a bit), it's all good. We are great at surface stuff like what's going on with the kids, what trips we have planned and what crazy stuff is happening in the world (You might recall, you have to remind me what's going on in the world since I closed my life to newspapers, radio and television years ago. Thank you for the updates). People that...
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Nana, I'm sad. I'm sad because you'll never meet your great grandchildren. I'm sad because I took you for granted. I'm sad because I never got to say goodbye. But I'm happy too that you were always there for me. I'll never forget the adventures and experiences you gave to all of the grandchildren. I'm happy because I got to know you the longest, and I'm happy that you never ever let me be 'too old' for all the fun stuff. I'll remember every single pantomime you took me to. I'll remember each story you read me. I'll try to remember the recipes, although we both know I'll probably give up and Google it. I'll be frustrated when it doesn't taste the same. I'm sad no one knows your recipie for gravy. I'm sorry I threw up in your car that one time. And that other time. And...
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Dear Drunk Driver who Hit the Vehicle my Husband Was Riding in Late Saturday Night/Early Sunday Morning; I won't pretend to know what you were thinking when you slammed into the back of that Suburban and then careened into the truck my husband was riding in at the time. I don't think I can wrap my head around the decision to get behind the wheel of a vehicle while drunk, drinking or even only "just had a few." There is no excuse: You were in the wrong. Now that we all understand that you were in the wrong, I feel the need to tell you a few things about one of the men you endangered with your bad decision. He is, hands down, the most amazing man I have ever met. He is a devoted husband, a hands-on daddy, this house's primary dish-washer, a loving son, a helpful grandson, a...
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Dear Tom, The legal drinking age in the US is 21. Please know that Dad and I will never allow you to have alcohol in our house or in our presence until you reach that age. Please also know that no good has ever come from a group of teenagers drinking. It's a recipe for all kinds of disasters. If you should choose to drink, you'll not only be breaking the rules of our house, you'll be breaking the law. If you get stopped for driving under the influence, or the police get called to a party where you have been drinking, you may be in a position where we can't protect you. Always call me and your Dad. ALWAYS. No matter what you have done. Don't ever follow up a bad choice with one that's worse just because you're afraid of disappointing us or making us angry. Will we be...
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The plane has already landed My heart is beating faster I’m getting anxious, nervous Can’t wait to get off the plane Wanna see, wanna hold her I wanna be with her! “Cabin Crew: Doors may be opened” Long row of people waiting They seem to take forever Getting their cabin luggage The small aisle seems unforgiving I wanna be with her! Finally off the airplane Rushing toward customs Trying to keep my calm Inside I’m feeling more anxious I wanna be with her! A long row before customs stops me I have to wait my turn Can feel my heart pounding Wondering if anyone notices I wanna be with her! Finally! I passed the customs Off to the baggage belt Slowly one suitcase after another Does the horror never end! I wanna be with her! Finally there comes my suitcase...
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On June 25th 2015 My Dad passed away. I was at an awards night for the non-profit I work for. Out of respect for everyone receiving an award I turned my cell phone off in an effort to be more present. It started out as a very happy night. My girlfriend (also a co-worker) won an award and made a very moving speech that made me very proud of her. I was moved by a lot of the speeches that my peers made, but one of them went above and beyond thanking their parents and honoring them for the job they did in raising her. This stood out to me and I fantasized about being chosen as employee of the year myself. Having my dad there and giving him the honor and respect that he deserved for raising me. As the night was coming to a close I turned my cell back on to receive multiple e-mails from my Mom...
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Hey Kids, Feel free to leave your stuff wherever you want this summer. Half-finished smoothies in the family room? No problem. I got it. Socks in the hall. I'm on it. Dishes in the sink? Keep 'em coming. Legos? Everywhere? Love it. Oh, and feel free to drag your blankets all over the house and abandon them the moment you no longer want them. I'll fold them lovingly for you and return them to your rooms. And doors? Shutting them is optional. I'm right behind you, so, seriously, don't worry about it. I love when the wasps get in and the air conditioning gets out. Who are we to be sequestered in our climate-controlled house? Open door policy in this house. We have endless money. And it's totally fine to leave your wet bathing suits and towels on any surface, from the floor to the...
2,249

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