Dear Mom,

You being here these last few days while A. is out of town was completely unnecessary, but what a treat– to be able to leave the house after 3pm alone, to get a haircut across town and not look at the time even once, to shower in the mornings without holding court from behind the curtain, settling some dispute or magically locating a second shoe from afar with conditioner slicked in my hair. And even better than all of that, I just really like having you around, period. Even if you do fold entire loads of dirty laundry. 

Come back any time,




Dear Trader Joe’s Baking Soda Toothpaste,

It was weird, but I liked it. 

Sleep well,


Dear Hoarders,

I just found two plastic bags full of unused/ unopened craft supplies under a box of old magazines and unsent greeting cards.

So, do I qualify?

And did I mention it was all stacked on a folded-flat futon with sheets still on it?

Holla back, Hoarders. I’m pretty free in January.



Dear Women of Facebook,

Please stop inviting me to your Scentsy parties in Indianapolis. There are so many reasons why that is never, ever going to happen, the first of which is that I moved 300 miles away 13 years ago.



Dear other three people on this Shuttle from LAX,

I often wonder in situations like this one, where we’re barreling through traffic so far from home, if we would make a good team should tragedy strike this blue van we’ve shared for the last 20 minutes. What would your true colors be, old Japanese man? How resourceful are you, pantsuit lady? What’s your deal, driver? And what’s mine?

Here’s to not finding out,


Dear Decisions,

Why are you ganging up on me? What do I look like, some kind of decision machine? You want to be good decisions in the end, I assume. One at a time, please. For everyone’s sake, including yours. 



Dear Big Table,

Thank you for being our art studio, our therapy couch, our reading space, our accounting desk, our science lab, our satellite office, our laundry station, our research department, our detention center, our safe place, our sparring ring, our schoolroom, our courtroom, our junk drawer, our lost and found, our five-star restaurant, our fast-food joint. For pulling us back together, however bedraggled, night after night after night. 

Here’s to many more,


Dear Skort,

Who says you’re kid stuff? It’s you and me, baby. Allllllll summer.

Looking forward to it,


Dear People of Nashville,

Do you remember that terrible show at the zoo last weekend? The one where the animal completely lost its mind and freaked out and made horrible noises and frightened the children and flailed its legs and clawed at its handler, and had to be restrained and removed from the area before it hurt itself or some innocent zoo guest? 

That was US, Nashville. The grand Snyder shitshow at high noon.

I want to be clear that we started out so strong, so brave, so beautiful and ready. All good manners and holding hands and listening ears and sisterly love and sharing apple slices and joyfully helping each other identify the unmistakable “potty hole” in the Meerkat exhibit. 

And then, oh, I don’t know. Things happened. Or maybe it was that they didn’t. Regardless, my sweet baby O went primal by the playground, across from the gift shop, in the most high-traffic area she could find, just as you were getting ready to enjoy the long-armed gibbons. It was so much more than a tantrum we gave you; it was a performance.

In return, you gave us looks of pity and amusement, disapproval and disgust. And to the few kind souls who simply went on about the business of gibbon-watching, we thank you from the bottom of our unhinged hearts.


Catt & the Girls

Dear last night’s makeup,

Congratulations! You are now this morning’s makeup. Thank you for your continued service.



Dear Next Person to Buy One of My Children a Bead-Related Craft Kit,

Oh, wow– do you know these kids or what?! They LOVE beads and tedious beading crafts, and one of my most rewarding “mom-jobs” is being summoned every 30 seconds to jam a delicate, limp string at an all-but-invisible hole. Those tears (theirs, mine) are tears of JOY!  And as a special, heartfelt thank-you, I’ll gladly come to your house with a 25-lb bag of the tiniest pea gravel and empty it in every corner, under every cushion, into every drawer and  unattended shoe in your home. Is next week good for you? 

Many, many thanks,


Dear mid-week overnight guests,

My sincerest wish for you while you’re here is that you will not feel the need to take a shower. I don’t clean this place all that often, but when I do, I cut corners.



Dear Elementary School,

I’m all for participation, but this little family can only handle one “something-a-thon” at a time. For the record, we’re picking “read.”  Not that we don’t like jumping rope, but I have to tell you– when one requires creating a fundraising web page and one requires staying up late with a book and a glass of milk, it’s just not a tough decision in this house. 

Best of Luck,



Dear Andy,

Two things you should know about your “McRib is Back” t-shirt: 

1. You’ll never find it.

2. It’s for the best. 



Dear Monkey Brain,

I can always count on you to show up at times like this, when I’ve got a heap of paying work breathing down my neck and big gales of creative brain-weather trying to blow the shutters off the whole rag-tag operation.

I just sit down to write and there you are, chattering and screeching and leaping from tree to tree, distracted and manic and throwing your own poop.

If nothing else, at least you’re consistent.

Quiet please,