Dear Family,

Tonight, as I stepped over the veritable mountain of dirty laundry that was lying next to the empty laundry basket in the middle of the dining room, I realized that it is time for me to point out very clearly what you all have been missing over the past few months:

Things around here are going to hell in a handbasket.

I am feeling so overwhelmed that, soon, if you want help finding your missing pajama bottoms/swim goggles/camera/musical instrument/shoes/ipod/backpack/favorite stuffed animal/LEGO micro figure/bike helmet, you will have to dig me out from underneath a huge pile of Cherry Garcia containers and Nut Goody wrappers--and you will probably have to rent a crane large enough to lift my ever-increasing fat ass off the couch--before I can even begin the search.

I can no longer keep up with all the empty toilet paper rolls and dental floss bits that are regularly left all over the bathroom floor. I cannot understand why it looks like someone spit all over the bathroom mirror each night, no one ever flushes the toilet or drains the tub, or why there is a large rock on the tile behind the door.

And why, if no one ever practices their instruments, are there music books, folders, cases and shoulder rests spread all over the living room?

No one but me seems to notice that the kitchen floor has not been scrubbed since 2007 (I have been too busy turning every single clothing item that goes through the wash right-side-out to find the time to undertake the arduous task of mopping) and that, ever since the dog died, dried up vegetables and crusty pasta bits have been accumulating on the rug underneath the dining room table. I don't know why the ants from the kitchen haven't discovered this cornucopia yet, but maybe I'm just not being patient enough.

The dust around here is so thick I don't even need to use a coaster on the antique table anymore--it's absorbent now, like a tablecloth. And instead of removing the cobwebs in the corners of every room, I pause to admire them, like works of art--it's far less work to accommodate the spiders than to haul out the vacuum.

We have three lawnmowers in the garage, yet the grass is higher than my ankles. There is a plastic table top lying in the back yard that we haven't used since Snacks' first birthday party...eight years ago. There are 3,000 orange Nerf darts strewn all over our property.

I know you're all Extremely Busy with all of your Important Activities, but I'm hoping that just maybe--before I am forced to start drinking heavily or act on my recurring impulse to get in the car and drive westward--you  might be persuaded to stop for a moment, look around, and start picking up all your shit. Put away all your toys/shoes/art supplies/mail/random accessories, do a load of laundry, throw away your used Kleenexes/gum wrappers/Haagen-Dazs lids, and wipe down a counter or two. Sweep the porch.

Otherwise, it won't be long before I'm thumbing for a ride in that handbasket.