My Dearest TiVo,

Hey baby.

Just a quick note to say that I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately and wanted you to know just how much happiness you have brought to my life.

A few years ago, before we met, I was in one of those one-sided, emotionally vacant relationships with the Digital Cable Box and I thought that because I was getting reminders when my favorite shows were getting ready to start, that my life was complete.

You turned that all upside down.

You showed me that there is so much more to TV viewing and that I shouldn’t be afraid to raise my expectations. Because I deserve more. Because I am worth it. Until you, I never believed.

I know we’ve had our share of misunderstandings. I said some things I really didn’t mean a few weeks ago when I thought you forgot to record the eviction-ceremony-episode of Big Brother. When I figured out that CBS had changed the name in the program guide from Big Brother: Til Death Do Us Part to Big Brother 9 and I apologized I know you said you forgave me, but I also know you were deeply hurt. You must have felt as if I had been just using you all this time. I can never say “I’m sorry” enough. And, I feel I have to tell you once more from my heart that no matter what I said, I never thought you were a WorthlessPieceofShit.

Shh. Don’t cry.
We’ll get past it honey.

You are one of the best parts of my life. With your Fast-Forward button, you have made it possible for me to skip commercials entirely, freeing up 27% more time to watch other shows. With your Delete, you have given me the freedom to pick and choose which pieces of Oprahganda to expose myself and my family to. With your Series Record Option, you have given me the ability to keep up with the Kardashians.

For all that, and SO MUCH MORE, I sincerely thank you.

Don’t ever change.

Yours til death or the next big thing comes along whichever’s first,
Jenny

Katelynn on . . .

. . . animal sounds: “The rooster goes cock-a-little-do.”

. . . long traffic lights: “COME ON GREEN LIGHT! YOU WANT A PIECE OF MEAT?”

. . . her big sister’s FOUL MOUTH: “MOM-EEEEEEE. Emma said a bad word. She said ‘Why don’t you mind your own BEESWAX?’”

. . . religion: “Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells you what to do.”

I suppose we could correct her, but really prefer just to laugh at her.

At 2:40 a.m. this morning, I was annoyed awake by a shrill and steady whine from outside my bedroom window. It took me probably two or three minutes to come out of my REM-sleep daze and realize that I was not actually hearing the squeals of a thousand piglets being boiled alive as I had been dreaming, but a TORNADO SIREN signaling “DANGER!DANGER! I RECOMMEND YOU AWAKEN YOUR FAMILY IMMEDIATELY AND MAKE!HASTE! TO YOUR CELLARS, BASEMENTS, AND/OR SAFE ROOMS LEST YOU SUFFER CERTAIN DEATH BY FUNNEL CLOUD. AND YES I AM TOTALLY SERIOUS. DO IT NOW, NOT LATER. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.”

(In our part of town the sirens are a bit bossy, but in a nice way. That’s why we live in the burbs.)

So, I did awaken my family and we made a fairly organized dash to our Safe Room (better known as The Closet Under the Stairs) and I tossed a card table, four folding chairs, and two wood TV trays out into the hall, threw in three pillows, two cell phones, and a blanket, and the five of us* hunkered down to wait for windy Armageddon.

Which, thank you Sweet Baby Jesus, never came.

We did, however, get torrential rain and piles of golfball-sized hail, but you won’t hear me complaining about that tradeoff.

Today is cloudy and calm. But rumor has it that more severe weather is on tap for our area this evening and overnight. They don’t call it Tornado Alley for nothing people.

* Rob missed out on this special bonding time due to the fact that he was very busy keeping the streets of Broken Arrow safe. Which I am not bitter about.