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Let's Panic: The Book!

Order your copy today!

How to Endure and Possibly Triumph Over the Adorable Tyrant
who Will Ruin Your Body, Destroy Your Life, Liquefy Your Brain,
and Finally Turn You
into a Worthwhile
Human Being.

Written by Alice Bradley and Eden Kennedy

Some Books
I'm In...

Sleep Is
For The Weak

Chicago Review Press

Home - Middle Row

Let's Panic

The site that inspired the book!

At LET'S PANIC ABOUT BABIES, Eden Kennedy and I share our hard-won wisdom and tell you exactly what to think and feel and do, whether you're about to have a baby or already did and don't know what to do with it.

Lets-Panic.com → 

Entries in open letters (8)

Monday
Sep172007

An open letter to five-year-olds.

Listen up, jerks. You may think your place in the household is secure, but your parents have had it with you, and are seriously considering some drastic changes. Like maybe a move to a Preschooler-Free Household. Yeah, that's right. One of these mornings you might just find your Thomas Suitcase all packed up on the doorstep. Your parents will tell you there's an AWESOME SURPRISE waiting for you outside, and once you're out there, oopsie, the door locked behind you! And why aren't they answering the door? And what's that cab pulling up the driveway?

Oh, don't give me that look, with the big wet eyes. All right, probably they won't do that. Or definitely. Definitely they won't do that. Okay? Pull yourself together. But sometimes they dream of it, and do you want them thinking of you like that? No, right? You're staring at me blankly, so either you agree or you don't understand a word I'm saying. While I have your attention, here are some behaviors you might want to avoid in the future:

1. Whining. Bad idea, short stuff. I don't know when you first learned the super-smartastic lesson that making a sound like the air being slowly let out of a balloon will cause your parents to finally see your point. In fact, all they can hear is EEEEEEEE. All they can think is "Where's that suitcase of his?"

2. Talking. As in, that much. Yes you're witty and brilliant and yes your parents sometimes enjoy hearing of your Lego Batman Adventures in Prehistoric Space, but the occasional pause would serve you well. For instance, when your mom is calling the bank and she gets one of those automated voice-activated menus. The kind that respond to YES and NO, not MOM HEY MOM LISTEN HOW BATMAN EXCAPED THE ROBOTRONIC DINO-RAPTOR.

3. Behaving in a nutty fashion. News flash: sometimes your parents think you're a complete loon. Like when you're tired but instead of sitting quietly or GOING TO BED LIKE YOU CLEARLY NEED TO, you leap from room to room, alternately wailing piteously and cackling with mirth. Then when your parents sensibly try to direct you upstairs you engage in multiple wacky pratfalls until you finally injure yourself. And blame your parents for your injuries.

4. Baby talk. There was a time when you talked like a baby, and you're not in that time anymore. You can't fake it. It's not charming when you try. You like to combine it with the whining. No one else likes it. See how your mom is shuddering? Okay. Let's move on.

5. "Again!" Here's the thing: if something happens that was fun, we get that you enjoyed it. And that you wish you could freeze that moment in time and replay it as many times as you want. Unfortunately, you cannot. So when your mom hangs you upside-down by the feet and you're greatly amused, and you ask for it again, maybe she can do it one or two more times. But after the fifth time, her spine begins to give out. And when you're issuing threats and caterwauling because you can't do that fun upside-down thing a 37th time, you've pretty much sapped the fun out of the experience, and also caused your parents to think twice about ever engaging with you, in any way, until the end of time. Let it go.

There are 17 other behaviors we need to address, but this is a good beginning for now. If you make an honest attempt to improve yourself in the ways I've outlined above, your place in the home might remain secure. Of course I can't promise anything. And no, you can't have a cookie. No, I said. Not now. No. No. Okay, just one.

Tuesday
Feb202007

No one told me it would be like this.

Dear Four and a half,

You’re amazing. Never leave.

Love,

Mommy

Hey baby,

Aww, sweet thing. Four and a half’s gonna be here for a good long while. Shh, now, don’t fret. Four and a half’s gonna tell you how beautiful you are. Gonna stroke your hair, now. Four and a half can’t stop looking at you, is all. Remember how Four would slap you upside the head and not care what you thought? Four and a half might do that, too, but it’s by accident, see, and then he’s going to kiss you all over that head of yours and make sure you know it weren’t meant to hurt.

Hey, can Four and a half have that cookie? That one you thought Four and a half wouldn’t notice, all wrapped up in the pantry? No, you say? That’s cool. See? Four and a half wants you to know he can wait—he’s got all the time in the world. Or maybe that cookie isn’t for him and never will be. No matter. Some other cookie will come by, some other time. And when that time comes, Four and a half will be there. For that cookie.

Sweet, sweet love,

Four and a half

Dear four and a half,

….

Love,

Mommy

My love,

Speechless, aren’t you? I know. I know it all. Hey, want me to hold that door open for you? I knew you’d like that. Ain’t nothing I don’t know. Like spelling, baby. Like, you know what letter “word” starts with? Wuh..wuh… that’s a double-you. So it starts with “D.” D starts double-you. See, baby? Try to correct four and a half on that one, and your head will spin. Just smile, baby. Four and a half’s got it all figured out.

Four and a half’s going to draw you a picture of Obi-Wan Kenobi, now. Only instead of a light saber, Obi-Wan’s gonna have a flower in his hand. For his beautiful mommy. Oh, Four and a half is so gonna get that cookie.

Marry me,

Four and a half

Wednesday
Sep132006

Here she goes again with the letters

Dear Four,

You’re a month away, and you’re already kicking my ass. How is it that you’re kicking my ass from the future? I miss Three. I never thought I’d say that. Please advise.

Love,

Me

Dear you,

Just as I have successfully beaten you down, so have I kicked Three right to the curb. And yeah, I’m here early. So? Why should I explain myself? Poop to that, I say. Poop. Poop in your butt. (Good one, me!)

We all know who’s causing the problem, here. We would be getting along just fine, me from the future and you from the now, if you would only comply with my demands. If you were to provide me (for breakfast) with a twelve-pack of cinnamon Trident (slightly aged so that the cinnamon is not too cinnamon-y) and an ice-cream sandwich and a Playmobil catalog and let me watch violent cartoons while pointing to items in the catalog and shouting I WANT THAT, all while dripping ice cream on my clean pants, then we’d get along just like… pee… on a … foot. (Yes!)

Sure, I may be setting the bar fairly high, but it’s only because I know you can handle it. Just as I know you secretly love it when I fling my surprisingly dense body at your head and whup you with my light saber and then smash my lips into your eye socket. Soon you will be so smitten that you will forget that Three ever existed. You’ll be all, three? That wimpy jerk who liked to watch Miffy? Did Three ever ask you to marry him? No, Three couldn’t make the commitment. But I’m Four, baby. And I’m totally your man. Now get me that ice cream and gum, and make it snappy.

In summary, I’ll be here for a while, and I am going to poop on your head THAT DOES NOT STOP BEING FUNNY!

Yeah!

Four

Wednesday
Aug162006

Soon they will be gone, and I will dance upon their eensy graves.

Dear pink eye:

I have had it with you, you crusty whore. Get out of my kid’s eye.

Sincerely,

Alice

Dear Alice, aka Supervisor of Most Beloved Host Body,

You know less than nothing, you giant Alice slug. We are not a “you” but a “you plural.” Once we were many, and we knew nothing but joy. We danced and sang the praises of Most Beloved Host Body, that which you call My-Kid’s-Eye, who kept us warm and safe in his lovely tide pools, who only endangered us occasionally with his Giant Hand-Digit as it disturbed our waters and brought many of us with it on a mysterious journey to Out There. But still, we loved Him. And then you arrived, raining your hot evil breath upon us as Most Beloved Host Body screamed in protest, and you brought the poisonous flood that destroyed most of our numbers. Now on top of it all you call us these names? You are this Crusty Whore of which you speak. You!

Love,

Staphylococcus #19,000,007,888,999,122,882


Dear Alice,

We heard some, how shall we say this, bloodcurdling screams and shrieking coming from your home last night. Just wondering, if, you know, we should call someone for you! Maybe find a better home for your kid! You frighten us!

We now regret giving you those housewarming brownies,

Your neighbors


Dear Neighbors of Most Beloved Host Body,

SHE IS KILLING US. One by one we die, and yet she keeps coming, drowning us in her toxic tidal waves. There are only 10,000,000,000,000,000,000 of us left. We need your help. Call governmental agencies! Help us!

Most sincerely,

Staphylococcus #18,200,000,873,2931

p.s. Come over and dip one of your Hand-Digits into our tidal pools, and perhaps we can come live on you. We mean, with you. You will revel in our brutal, tiny love.

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