Trena Eiden columnist.

File photo

I often write letters to our offspring. We text almost daily, call a few times each month, and try to get together whenever we can, but I still like to write letters to them. Do they hate getting the notes from me? They aren’t dumb enough to say so. As I cleaned my desk this morning, I spied a stack of letters and decided to share some of the thoughts that I’ve sent to my kids. Just to clarify, “Dad” is Gar.  

Hey troops,  

Dad has a new mantra from something I saw online, “Two incomes are better than one so make sure your partner has two jobs. Follow me for more financial freedom advice.” Dad thought that was great thinking and since I have multiple jobs, I told him he had to cook dinner. I think we’re having tuna sandwiches. Can you say “Wahoo!”

Let me know when you kids are going to be able to come for a visit. No joke, I really mean it. I absolutely must be given notice because I’ll have to scrub the showers. We want you to come back again and again and right now our tubs appear as though raccoons have made nests, which I think is from your parents’ hair loss. We’re old.  

Speaking of seeing you, we wish we were there with you putting things away in your new house and by the way, I don’t think we have the new address. In fact, I know we don’t have the new address. Did you really move to Terre Haute and you’re just messing with us that you bought a home a few blocks from your old place? Are you to be trusted?  

I’m going to plant flowers in the barrels this weekend. Last spring I did that and Dad covered my barrels while I was out of town working all week. What a great guy your dad is. But he said I still owe him for doing it last year. He thinks he wants me to go antique coin shopping with him at those pawn shops that he loves so much and I hate so much. And it gets so complicated. Should I happily let him buy one coin per flower barrel, because that would be quite a few? But you know in actuality, he scooched the barrels into groups so technically he only used a few large blankets. If I fuss about it, he’ll remind me that he also carried in the hanging baskets and every small pot. I hate it when he’s a perfectionist and I have to start doing the addition and subtraction stuff. Math, you know. Pray for me.  

Thank you for the new rolling photo thing. That’s a techy term. We’re sad our old one went kaput, and I know you said you’d help with this one, but I haven’t bothered you because I know you’re busy. When you get unbusy, we’ll do it. I can’t do it on my own because I don’t know how it works. I just told the ladies at the library that I don’t know how anything works. We never watch DVDs because we don’t know how to get the Roku to switch from Netflix. Technology is a curse for the dumb. To be honest, I don’t know how my phone works either. I can text you and in two seconds you answer. It’s other-worldly (that you answer). Then there’s the vacuum. How does it suck up all our hair and skin cells and never plug up? And the washer, dryer, computer, car, or my lungs, and I even looked at a diagram of those. I don’t have a heart so there’s no worry about how it functions. I do believe I’ve figured out how my wheelbarrow works and really, how much more does a woman need to be educated than that?  

Use the gift card for something you need for the house. I sent the receipt with it, but sad to say, you didn’t get the treats on the receipt. I’ve been trying to make Dad eat healthier, but I took pity on him in a weak moment at the store and handed him the Cheetos. He was so grateful he got moisture in the corners of his eyes. He’s always been such an emotional mess, I can hardly keep him from using up all the Kleenexes.  

I’ll close but wanted to mention my abundant protein intake. I just found out the average chocolate bar has 8 insect legs. What a win.