Last night was just a simple birthday celebration with just the two of us. I made LM’s meal of choice (cheeseburgers, corn and baked beans). (Okay, I’ll admit, it was his second meal of choice. His first was lasagna, which I am more than happy to make, but I figured I’d wait until my dad and second mom were here next week, but LM doesn’t know they are coming, so I had to just suggest that we wait on that one since it’s a BIG meal for two people. He was fine with that. No demotions from Mom-of-the-Year yet.) Anywho…

So we ate, and then I ushered my dear birthday boy off to handbell choir (for me). What a wonderful way to spend your birthday evening, huh? I know, but we only have two rehearsals before our next performance, so skipping one wasn’t really a good option on my part. I had LM take along the video camera, however, and asked that he record our last song. I had snuck in some new sheet music and while he video’ed, we all played a round of Happy Birthday!! He was quite suprised and was tickled that I had planned all that.

We came home and opened gifts. Star Wars Lego fighter-jet thing from my sister and her family (nice pick, Bear!!) A big, thick composite book of “The Shakespeare Stealer” (excellent suggestion, Stacy!) and a Robo-Reptile (remote controlled dinosaur) that I had picked up while Christmas shopping. LM was thrilled! I had to make a late night run for more batteries (that’s what happens when you buy the gift in December – you’ve used up the batteries that went along with it by May!) We’ll have cake and candles and all that on Saturday when his two best buddies come to spend the night.

This morning, however, I had to deal with the aftermath. I had listened to LM tell me excitedly what gifts his dad had given him on Tuesday and I spent much of my evening after LM went to bed researching and mulling over my options. I realize how difficult it must be for a child to live in two homes with such different philosophies on life. I needed to tread carefully, but to make sure that my efforts were not being sabotaged, either. For all my efforts to raise a non-violent, moral, Christian, loving, kind boy (to become a responsible, mature, compassionate man) my ex-husband had bought our eleven year old “Halo” for the X-Box (rated M for Mature) and a full-sized letterman (a swiss army knife of sorts). I spoke with J this morning regarding the game and it turns out he never paid any attention to the rating. He’s going to investigate it and decide if it’s appropriate or not. I tried to suggest that even games with a T (for Teen) rating were inappropriate for an eleven year old, but I’m not sure that even sunk in. I spoke directly with LM about the knife, explaining it was immediate expulsion from school if he ever took it there (no questions, no retort, no explanations, just expulsion) and that if it even set foot in my home it belonged to me. Period. End of discussion.

I can recognize that these battles are waged within married couples as well, and that many divorced parents cannot reach middle ground without bloodshed, but I still feel weary some days from having to continually fight for LM’s right to a normal, healthy childhood.

The Top Eleven Things I Love About My Little Man:

1. His sense of humor. This will always appear on my list of favorites for LM, as I think he has a well-developed sense of humor. He is intelligently witty. This is not to say he doesn’t still appreciate the occasional “fart joke” but he’s more likely to use the words “flatulence” which makes it even funnier coming from a child.

2. His brain power. I hereby declare that I am NOT smarter than a fifth grader. LM has struggled in school only because his academic ability greatly exceeds the curriculum being taught in his classroom. He continues to be a voracious reader (he just polished off Tom Clancy’s “Patriot Games” in three days) and excels in math, social studies and science. This year, he has even improved his writing grades, a HUGE accomplishment for LM!

3. His affection. LM is quick to compliment you on a great meal, a fun afternoon, or just to thank you for an evening spent together reading on the couch. He loves hugs, sponges up praise and if you think to leave him a sweet little note just telling him how impressed you were with how clean his room is, he will tuck it away in his “forever box”.

4. LM is up for anything. Want to go to the park? Bowling? Kayaking? Parasailing? Bungee jumping? Mini-golfing? Just want to relax on the couch with a movie? Out to dinner? Homemade pizza? LM doesn’t care. His enthusiasm will quickly follow and he’ll tag along to do almost anything you please. A day outside with a good walking stick is high on his list of days well spent.

5. His maturity. I have noticed over the last couple of years LM’s social maturity really coming around. He takes interest in the little kids at church and helps them with activities. He thinks about his younger cousins in a caring, compassionate manner. He was delighted to have a new cousin born this year and to be able to hold the baby was a big deal to him. His attitude towards fostering has been amazing and his realization of all that he has to offer to another child is really tremendous.

6. LM is just fun. Whether he’s trying to put on his best poker face, or is preparing a personal trumpet concert for me on a Friday evening, LM is clever and funny and sweet. He goes out of his way to do nice things for me, and often has me in stitches with his antics.

7. His independence. Maybe it’s because I never thought he’d be an only, but I never babied LM. While I try to make sure he enjoys his childhood, I’ve also tried to prepare him to be a mature, responsible, loving adult. I saw it especially on the cruise when LM would decide for himself what activities he wanted to do and would go off to the kid’s room without needing my assistance or supervision. He could be trusted to go to the room to change, to go to a meal without me, to play for hours in the pool with someone else keeping track of him. While we still have our occasional slip-ups, all in all, he’s a very responsible, mature child.

8. His pirate dance. Actually, I just love how he let loose on the cruise. Sometimes, LM can be a bit stuffy, not always wanting to do the things the other kids are doing, but on the cruise, he got up from his chair and DANCED. He had the most amazing time on that boat and I really saw him cut loose and have fun.

9. His appreciation for what is important to me. LM has learned that I like clean counter tops, zipped back packs, picked up rooms and a clean house. He also realizes how much I appreciate the nights that he cooks dinner, the times he walks the dog and all the times he helps take out the trash. He has really come around this year to understanding that he does these things not because I ask it of him, but because it is important to me. It’s a sweet, sweet difference.

10. That he enjoys the simple things with me. Great music at church, good movie night, a walk around the neighborhood, a trip to the library, it doesn’t have to be expensive or involved, LM just enjoys time together. And I enjoy time with him.

11. That when I look back over the past 11 years (which went by in a flash) there was never a time of his life when I wanted to trade him in. He was never a terrible two, although aliens took over his body around 3 1/2 he was still a delight to be around, he has wriggled through some growing pains as he’s stretched his will and independence, but I can never stay mad at him for more than a few hours. LM is, above all else, my pride and my joy. In every way. In every day.

Happy Birthday Little Man!!

My husband and I had gone out for dinner on April 27th to celebrate his 25th birthday. Sitting in a booth (that I barely fit into) at our favorite establishment, the waitress asked me when I was due. “Yesterday,” I replied. She freaked out. She thought that meant that at any point during my meal I would surely burst into labor right there in the booth. We laughed at her anxiety throughout the entire meal. She rushed us through our meal, anxious for us to get out of there before anything happened.

On May 1st, after unintentionally outlasting a month that already held three family birthdays, my mother-in-law called me and said, “Amy, it’s May Day! What a glorious day to have a baby!” At this point, five days past my due date, I was more than ready for this child to evacuate the premises. I had been patient and calm up until this point and now anxiety was taking over.

J had a meeting after work that night. He had a pager and was no more than 10 minutes from the house so I wasn’t concerned. I called my best friend Suzan and asked if she wanted to go for a walk with me after she was done at work. She had new hiking boots she wanted to break in and quickly agreed. She was sorely disappointed after we slowly waddled around three blocks and I called it enough. She didn’t understand that I couldn’t walk three or four miles with a baby hanging between my knees.

Since J was at his meeting, we decided to grab a bite to eat. Knowing that any day now I would be done being pregnant, I decided to splurge and eat a horrendous meal – cheeseburger, fries and even cherry pie (a la mode!) for dessert! When we finished, I made a trip to the restroom already regretting my indulgence. Suzan wanted to stop at a small book store in town to find the Rolling Stones magazine with the X-Files on the cover. As we walked into the store, around 7:30, I felt my first contraction. No biggie, nothing to get worked up over. I just stood near the front while Suzan shopped and as we exited the store I told her that our walk had worked and I was having contractions! Suzan wasn’t amused by this announcement.

At home, Suzan stayed with me, hoping J would come home at any minute. I was packing up a bag to take to the hospital and had trouble walking around the baby’s room. I had to stop several times and wait out contractions. I finally decided to take a shower before I went (some sense of decency, I guess) and spent the time in the shower with the shower head on full tilt right on my stomach. I realized I couldn’t really feel the contractions so I decided I’d better stop and get out so I could monitor them better. I went and laid down on our bed and felt like I was hit with a freight train. The contractions were coming faster and harder and I knew with certainty we’d be headed to the hospital soon.

J arrived home and Suzan informed him of my condition. I suggested that he grab a quick bite to eat as I wasn’t sure when he’d get another chance to. He stood in the doorway slowly looking at the mail, in no hurry to move or think about dinner. Suzan came running upstairs to tell me that J wasn’t understanding. I went down the stairs as best as I could, and calmly informed J that I was HAVING CONTRACTIONS and we NEEDED TO GO SOON. Oooooh, he said. He went to McDonald’s and got some dinner. While he was gone, my dad called. He was coming up on Friday and was now concerned that there wouldn’t be a baby yet (this was Wednesday) and so perhaps they should wait? I sat in my glider, rocking through the contractions, wincing when they hit, telling him the baby was on the way and would be here long before Friday as it seemed. He didn’t believe me. “We’ll see,” he kept saying. We were scheduled to be induced on Friday morning, but I was glad to be in labor sooner as I didn’t like the OB on rotation on Friday.

Meanwhile, Suzan, sitting across from me on the couch, was frantically pointing at her watch mouthing to me that my contractions were five minutes apart already!!

When J arrived home we called our doc. He asked when my contractions had started and I told him about an hour and a half ago. He told me we had a long time before they would be serious and not to go to the hospital until they were five minutes apart for an hour. Within five minutes of that call we realized they had been five minutes apart since the start and that was well over an hour ago. We decided to head to the hospital, much to the relief of Suzan who was glad to be relieved of all duties pertaining to childbirth.

We loaded up the car and headed towards the bridge.

Living on the Mississippi River gives you a number of options to get across. We could go the long way, to the big bridge, or the short way and risk the lock and dam being open and have to wait for boats to go through. As we headed towards the lock and dam, with J expressing his great worry that the bridge would be open (which could be a 40 minute wait) I remember him screaming at me – me, who was calmly sitting in the passenger seat only wincing when the contractions hit – screaming “THOSE ARE NOT FIVE MINUTES APART! THOSE CONTRACTIONS ARE ONLY THREE MINUTES APART!!!” J had never been good in a crisis.

The bridge was not open, we went right across and were at the hospital in Davenport, Iowa with no trouble. We had been to the hospital before and made sure we knew where to park, but it was after hours now and we had to enter in through the emergency room doors. As we trudged in, J’s arms laden with extra pillows, a stereo, my overnight bag and other assundries, the nurse placed me in a wheelchair and pushed me to the elevator. As we rode the elevator she asked how far apart my contractions were. J, with a tremble in his voice said, “THREE MINUTES!” The nurse got excited and said, “What are you people trying to do to us tonight? Everyone is waiting until the last minute to get here!” I calmly explained that my contractions had only started about two hours before and that I had plenty of time before the baby arrived. This was my first child, it would take awhile. The nurse calmed down, but J certainly didn’t.

I remember throwing up when I got into my room, and having the nurse tell me that was quite all right, it was going to happen sooner or later. They wanted me to give a urine sample (I think) and it was the first time I was unable to pee in six months. They tried an external monitor for the baby but it wasn’t working well, so they decided to do an internal. They asked if I wanted meds and I assured them that I could wait it out awhile, I didn’t want to jump into meds too soon, but wanted to feel some contractions for awhile. She said she’d check back in fifteen minutes. I thought she was insulting thinking I couldn’t last another hour. I certainly had perhaps twelve more hours of this, I could certainly wait it out a bit longer.

When she returned I figured I might as well just take meds if it was easier, but she informed me I was too far dialated, I had missed my window. That’s when I freaked out. “Missed my window?! I just got here!! I’ve only had contractions for a few short hours! How can I already be that far gone? This is my FIRST child!!” The nurse informed me that I would be holding my newborn before the day was through. It was currently 10:30pm. I couldn’t imagine we were that close to delivery already.

Things didn’t go well after that. They couldn’t get the baby’s heartrate and had to change internal monitors. Every time they turned me, everytime they moved me trying to get the heart rate my contractions intensified. Finally we got the heart rate but immediately we could tell it was slowing. J panicked. He screamed for someone to do something. I still well up thinking about the fear in his voice. We were scared. Everyone in the room was scared. The nurse told J to hit the red button by my head and someone screamed to get the doctor who was down the hall, unamused that he had been called in this early for a delivery.

When doc arrived he told me it was time to get this baby out the cord was around his neck, but nothing seemed to cooperate to that effort. Episiotomy, then forcepts, finally cajoled the itty out at 12:31am on May 2nd, a Thursday, and as I sit here today I cannot remember the pain, I only remember how blue his feet were. I remember the doctor telling me I had a boy and I was stunned. I had been certain I was having a girl. I remember looking over at the little bed they had for him and watching as they wiped him off and I didn’t hear a cry. I heard nothing. They finally handed him to me and I remember looking him over searching for signs of breath. He was fine. He was alive. He was beautiful. We had a son. Our little Jacob Gideon.

Before the drugs kicked in, the ones they gave me right after delivery but I swear I didn’t felt the effect of (I can tell you how long the stitches took) I remember J asking me who I wanted to call first. I told him I wanted to call my mom. He said he understood, but maybe I could call my dad (my mom had passed several years before). I remember whispering to J never to tell anyone, but I had been hoping for a girl. He said he knew that, everyone knew that, but I would love this boy just as much. I called my dad and woke him up to tell him the news. At some point during the conversation I remember handing the phone to J telling him I didn’t know who I was talking to or why. The meds had finally kicked in and J made the calls on my behalf.

LM’s APGAR score was a one and then a seven. The nurses told me I needed a transfusion but J wouldn’t allow for it. He was too scared of all the risks and said only if it came down to life or death, so I was watched like a hawk throughout the night until my color finally returned and the nurses stopped nagging. LM was fine, but there was some initial concern because he had been deprived of oxygen for too long and his heart rate had sunk so low.

Now, eleven years after that day, I can vouch for the fact that we are both just fine. And that I will never, for as long as I live, forget what it felt like to have a son. As traumatic as LM’s delivery was (and by far it was not the worst that could have happened) I will always be grateful that I was the one delivering and not the one standing helplessly by. I cannot imagine what that experience was like for J. It is the only time I have ever seen him scared. It is the only time I have ever heard him make a demand.

It is no small thing to be a parent. We are blessed in enumerable ways, but we are also tried and worn. The physicality of parenting a small child is soon replaced by the emotional struggles to raise a moral and loving young adult. But I am better for being a mom.

And I will never forget it.

Note: I would post pictures, but in an effort to simplify the potential moving process, I took all my albums to Michigan last summer, so I do not have access to LM’s baby photos. It is enough that I could sit here right now and close my eyes and see him as an infant as if it were an hour ago that he was.

…should you choose to accept it, is:
1. To visit Newlywifed and tell her what a gorgeous pregnant woman she is.
2. To visit Slush and welcome home H2, after an incredible journey, their little Guatemalian baby is home!
3. To visit Jenny today and give her a cyber hug.
4. Visit P2 and tell him to GIVE ME BACK MY CAT. (okay, so they just look alike…)
5. Tell Jules that we all miss her writing and want her to blog again soon. Like today. Maybe this hour?
6. Visit Katrina and tell her congrats for getting published in CK and wow! What a great baby pic (she’s really a great photographer!)
7. Congratulate Shell on completing her novel!
8. Please urge UC to tell us the rest of the Vegas story (what happens in Vegas NEEDS TO BE BLOGGED ABOUT!!)
9. Wish Ellen a belated Happy Birthday!
10. Prepare yourselves. LM turns 11 on Wednesday . Every year, as his birthday approaches, I find myself doing the math…if I meet Mr. Wonderful this afternoon, and we have a whirlwind romance and find ourselves married in 6 months, and 6 months after that we are pregnant, and 9 months later we have a child, LM would be nearly 13 years older than my next child. Sigh. I love this kid so much, I just always thought he’d make a great big brother.

Devotion. Perhaps not what I would have titled this novel. Perhaps “Forgiveness” or “Grace” or even “Love”. But not “Devotion.”

Norman’s novel is a love story of sorts. A whirlwind romance ruined by a perceived affair on the honeymoon. It tells more about the relationship of the son to his father-in-law after the affair is found out by the father-in-law and an ensuing argument ends in a car accident leaving the father in need of extensive care. The care is not given by the daughter, although she continues to visit often, but is provided by the man who caused the accident and the alleged affair to begin with.

As poignantly expressed by the estranged wife late in the novel, the husband, the cause for her and her father’s pain, never goes out of his way to apologize, to make amends, to offer what he could for an explanation. He simply continues to live on the same estate with his recovering father-in-law, caring for a herd (a gaggle? a school? a what?) of swans.

The novel comes together quickly in the end, with the assumption the reader was along for that outcome.

I guess I don’t get it. The only devotion I see is the care these men, particularly the father, takes for the swans. And while I could extrapolate the idea that swans mate for life, even that idea is questioned in the novel, leaving me to wonder exactly which character is demonstrating any sense of devotion. The end feels like a rough compromise, not a redemption of a heartfelt adoration. I do not sense any forgiveness, nor do I sense any apology. I am left feeling frustrated that this woman never made her husband stand up for himself, that a relationship that was “love at first sight” was never fought for by anyone. That it feels as if everyone simply “settled”.

I do not believe any of it is devotion.

I read “Hill Towns” by Anne Rivers Siddons years and years ago and strongly disliked it. As I recall, Siddons had some fascination with sex in that book that I just didn’t take to (go figure). I picked up “Sweetwater Creek” at the library last week, thinking I would give Siddons another try. There was still some strange sexual undercurrent in this novel (perhaps Ms. Siddons has some personal therapy she’s trying to work through in her writing?) but it wasn’t quite as pervasive.

Sweetwater Creek is an idyllic childhood home. With a location by the water (where the dolphins return every fall) and a livelihood of breeding the best hunting spaniels around, the only thing lacking in Emily’s world is the mother than ran off without explanation years before. Young Emily has made up for the loss of her mother through her close relationship with her ailing older brother. When Buddy takes his own life, Emily is left in a house of all men, with only her spaniel, Elvis as a companion.

Siddons introduces us to Lulu, a melancoly upper-class teenager in need of respite who is welcomed into the homestead by Emily’s father mainly to provide the family with the necessary social connections to move into the elite social circles of Lulu’s family and heritage. What we get instead is a disturbing relationship between this emotionally fragile and sexually exploitive teen and young, innocent, forgotten-about Emily. Siddons presents the friendship to the reader as a benefit to both characters for the longest time, only later revealing the truth behind Lulu’s issues and the staggering impact such would have on a 12 year old girl.

This coming of age novel lacks any sense of redemption or purpose in my opinion. While the book tidies up its ending so that the reader is left to believe that Emily has found hope afterall, and that her father has, in fact, secured for her a step into the right social network, I don’t think it justifies the damage already done. The hope of reconstruction in this young girl’s life seems to me to lie in the endearing aunt who is pushing aside and taken for granted by the characters in the novel, and even upon her re-entry into the family unit, it seems that her influence is greatly undervalued.

For the second time, I was unimpressed by Siddons. This novel could have made the same points without any sexual perversion whatsoever. Perhaps it is as a mother that I most strongly reject this novel, hoping that as parents we would be more protective of our families.

They sat on the floor in circles, two distinct groups with matching t-shirts to identify the teams. A question was posed, read twice and then the groups leaned in and whispered to each other. A leader sat in the middle of each, nodding, whispering back, questioning and finally looking around their group for consensus. An answer was provided. The judge gave a response. Points were tallied. The audience, moms and dads straddling hard, metal middle-school chairs, or propped up on top of desks, applauded and smiled.

Three rounds of 20 or more questions each , an accumulation of points, an awards ceremony where everyone went home with a ribbon, but some of a different color than others.

For the past five or six months, LM has been reading from a list of 45 assigned books. They have not been difficult to read, but some were not all that entertaining in thought or content to keep his attention. He participated in the Reading Olympics reluctantly, at the urging of his mother who thought a team-effort exercise was good for her “I know it best” only child.

And it was.

LM was not the leader of his group, but he was quick to offer in his answer to the team and even gave the explanation himself when it was clear he was the most knowledgeable on any given question. He deferred to others on the team when he was unfamiliar with a question and supported his teammates and opponents equally. In the end, he even said how much fun it was.

I was very proud.

And so I told him, when it was all over, just how impressed I was with him. And I congratulated him on a great victory, not one that had to do with points, but one that had to do with teamwork, and the accomplishment of reading and remembering and applying his knowledge.

The celebratory trip to Dairy Queen had to be postponed due to the lateness of the event and the traffic congestion getting home from the middle school. A bit of Ben and Jerry’s had to suffice until we can officially make the DQ run this weekend.

We sat side by side on the couch when we arrived home, enjoying the accomplishment, enjoying each other. LM said he was ‘weary’. “This is the best kind of sleep, though, Mom. The kind where your mind and your body are all just so tired that you just fall into bed and fall into sleep.”

And a well-earned rest at that, my boy. A well-earned rest indeed.

I am so very proud of my Little Man and his Reading Olympics team. Go Reading Rockets!

Awhile back, I posed the question of how I might actually archive my blog in a somewhat scrapbook-y fashion. Dawn recently had a post that proclaimed the virtues of this website, and I wanted to pass along the tip to all of you who asked that I share any information I found on the topic. I haven’t thoroughly searched through to find out how well it works, but believe me, I will! I’ll keep you posted, too.

I’m watching game three of the series between the Yankees and the Red Sox and the thing that’s disturbing me (not the tie score in the 6th) is that fans have signs in support of Daisuke Matsuzaka that look like this:

which, in my opinion is grammatically incorrect (it technically reads “Die-K” which is certainly NOT the message we hope to be sending). To be correct, a sign should look like this:

Yeah, I know. I should simply revel in the four consecutive home runs by the Red Sox, hope for a win to complete the sweep tonight and leave the Boston fans alone. I know. But it bugs me. Reason #47 why I am a loser.

April 22, 2007 (The date is an important part of a letter. It provides documentation of the specific date the letter was sent giving credence and reference to the contents.)

Dear Fox Sports: (This line is called the ‘salutation’. It specifically states to whom the letter is addressed.)

As a loyal NASCAR fan, I am disappointed to inform you that I will no longer be viewing any races broadcast on Fox. (This opening line is critical in stating the purpose and intent of the letter and should be carefully worded so as to spark an interest in the reader). Despite my favorite leader moving up from 17th place to fourth by the mid-way point of the race broadcast from Phoenix last evening, I was finally forced to shut off the broadcast lest my intelligence be further insulted.

It seems to me that Fox Sports is more interested in attracting new viewers to each NASCAR race than providing respectable commentary for those of us who have been fans for longer than a week. In last night’s commentary, as with the previouis broadcasts, Lary, Daryl and Mike have felt it necessary to repeatedly explain to viewers exactly what the COT is, how it came about, it’s differences and the current concerns. They have also repeatedly explained the “Lucky Dog” pass, a rule that has been in affect for two years. In addition, the commentators have re-explained tire wear, tire pressure, drafting, ‘aeropush’ and more aspects of the race that are all-too familiar to those of us who have watching NASCAR in the past. (This first paragraph should state the main reason for the correspondence. Providing specific details to elaborate on a given point.)

Having just viewed the Yankees vs. Red Sox game on Fox prior to the race, I did not find one instance during the baseball game where Joe Buck explained what a DH was, why a runner stopped when he reached first base, or what exactly consitutes a ‘home run’. It would seem as though the baseball commentators assume their audience knows a little something about the game, and if not, that they have the resources available to them to find out. I only wish this assumption were true during the NASCAR broadcasts. (This paragraph should provide further elaboration, including secondary points and evidence.)

While I am an avid NASCAR fan, and have faithfully watched races for more than five years, I regretfully withdrawal my viewership from Fox Sports. I realize it would be possible to simply mute the Fox commentators and play the radio broadcast alongside the Fox television broadcast, but I do not wish to support the sponsors of the remedial broadcast. (This paragraph should state action items, or the result of the evidence provided in previous paragraphs. It is best to try to make as big of an impact as possible with your words to draw immediate attention and action from the reader.)

If changes are made in the race day commentary, you will have to let me know by mail, as I will not be viewing, nor will my family and friends be viewing as we have since given up hope for any alterations to the intelligence level of the broadcasts. (While the statement about my family and friends may or may not be true, it is of normal practice to finish the letter with a bold, heavy-handed remark meant to make a lasting impact.)

It is my hope that Fox Sports recognizes the intelligence level of their viewers (even rednecks can understand NASCAR rules) and begins to reflect that understanding in their broadcasts. Perhaps finding commentators who have an above-average IQ will assist in finding a remedy to this situation.

Sincerely, (I would normally sign my letters ‘Best regards’, but in this case, it’s all I can do not to say something much worse, so I’ll stick to the very banal, ‘Sincerely’.)

Eliza Jane
(The signature line is critical. It takes responsibility and credit for the words and issues stated above, giving the letter merit.)

P.S. I hope you found my elementary explanations of letter writing to be as annoying as I found last night’s rules explanations to be.