‘Twas a month before Christmas when all through the house,
“We must write our holiday letter,” RJ began to grouse.
She said to her husband, I’m busy finishing Second Life,
Can you do a first draft? Can you help out your wife?
He laughed and he laughed, like a crazed, jolly old elf;
Pretty soon she figured out she’d have to do it herself.
So, she finished her book, then started to write.
She admits, she spent less than one-tenth of one night.
She presented her draft to kids and husband alike.
If they were editors, that letter they’d spike.*
Her husband said, “Umm, why does it rhyme?”
Her boy gave a shrug and turned on a dime.
Her daughter’s reaction was anything but flat,
She said, “Mom, please take my name off of that!”
RJ felt a bit beleaguered, like the Little Red Hen.
Except that RJ’s slackers lacked remorse at the end.
So, RJ finished the letter and sent it on its way.
It’s a thankless job, but at least it’s done today.
–That’s my little ode to how the preparation of our holiday letter went this year. Maybe next year will be easier.
(* spike – the journalistic term for not running a story that’s been written.)