Dear Gwen...

You probably thought I was joking when I told you to bring your battle gear for your upcoming visit. I wasn't.

In good conscience, I have to warn you: This isn't my sister's house. It isn't nearly as clean. Something is bound to crunch under your foot as you walk through our kitchen. When you sit at the table you're sure to rest your arm on a sticky spot. If you see something hairy in a corner or under the couch try not to be frightened... it's probably only a giant ball of dog hair. (It could be the cat, but it's not likely).

Whereas my sister's children are relatively sane, mine are not. There will be running, screaming, crashing and spitting of food (that's mostly Sam, but when he does it everyone else likes to join in). You will notice that all toys, books and walls have looked like they've barely survived a bombing. In reality, they've barely survived my boys. (Somethings don't survive, although we have yet to lose a family member.)

When you come here, you are essentially entering a battlefield. Do not bring any clothes that are remotely nice. You will see from my family's stained, torn and holey clothes that art projects and meals can get a little out of hand. You might want to wear a hat to avoid anything foreign clumping in your hair. Earplugs will come in handy, although we can issue those to you upon your arrival.

Don't bring anything you don't want crushed, spilled, flushed or thrown into a ceiling fan.

Finally, you will need to sign a waiver indicating that you, with your belongings, have entered our home at your own risk and you will not hold us responsible for anything that might happen to you or your things.

Enjoy your stay!