E.L. Gibbs

Dear friends and family,

I am writing with my yearly update. We’ve had some exciting developments at the Gibbs’ residence!

This year I surprised Darren with Glamour Shots for his birthday. Most of them are for his eyes only, but I wanted to show off a couple of teasers. He was pretty flustered when he saw them, and didn’t know how to react, so I held a finger to his lips and asked him to dance. He did not know how to refuse! Right there in our living room, I put on some Michael Bolton, moved in close, and did the slowest, most sensual Roger Rabbit you can imagine. He just stood there in what I assume was awe and desire. I will keep this PG, but let’s just say Glamour Shots can really spice up a marriage. (He asked me to blindfold him!)

Now for the kids. Tenzin is such a boy’s boy. When he’s not at school, he’s outside riding bikes or playing ball, or I’m sure doing something else. Yesterday he mentioned a burping contest and a bonfire. Coincidentally, Mrs. Wilson’s barn burned down the same day. Truth be told, I don’t know what he gets up to, but he’s always home for dinner.

Bella is another story. I can’t get her to leave her room. Day in, day out, it’s comic books and Atari. She wants to set a world record for the most Star Wars collectibles. I wish she had different hobbies and interests, as well as a different personality. She would not even put on makeup for our photo shoot, but I am including some pictures of her anyway because I am a good mother.

Darren is currently our sole provider, thanks to the plastics industry (“The Future is Plastic!”). It seems like as long as he’s got his tv time, he’s happy! Or at least, he doesn’t say he’s not happy. Actually, he doesn’t say much of anything at all.

Hopefully soon, I will be bringing home the bacon right along with him. Now that Tenzin can look after himself, I am pursuing my dream of becoming a romance novelist. The world is changing, and we women have ideas of our own! If anyone knows of an agent for my forthcoming novel Ravish, Ravished, Ravishing: The Grammar of Lust, please let let me know. So far I have mailed it to seven publishers, but I have not heard back yet. Maybe the world just isn’t ready for Mrs. Darren Gibbs!

Airn

Mother

#targetdresschallenge

My dearest countryfolk,

The beauty of Spring-time almost reconciles me to the fact that I am a year older than I was the last time the ewes lactated. Regrettably, I have been infirm since the harvest. Doctor Graves says it is a case of hysteria, and would not even let the leeches prove him wrong. Perhaps he is correct. Sometimes I take cover in the larder when the children become too irksome. What am I, after all, if not old meat in need of preserving?

It should give me pleasure to say that the remainder of kith and kin are hale. The newest son, now a child of four years, has a habit of inciting grievous mischief. If he makes it to his fifth birth-day, we shall name him. Dear Granny said in her last days that the flames of hell spring from his head and set him to all manner of trouble. We continue to bring him to church, but it does no good. Thank heavens the children’s work on the farm has seen a decent yield, for their appetite requires much, especially the eldest girl. We are all praying that I do not have a change-of-life baby, for presently, we have all the mouths we can feed.

I have just sewn myself a new dress, but not in frivolity. The last one was so worn, I could only salvage it to patch Darren’s britches. As noon-time approaches, the goats have been milked, the chickens fed, the crabapples canned, and now it is on-to Supper. What is a woman without endless toil? Revered Obadiah says this question is unanswerable, and that I must live out my allotted days in a gratitude borne of terror for the future of my soul.

As a sword to a ploughshare, I have learned my place is low, which is not to say unexalted. For what can anyone know of this great earth if they are not firmly acquainted with the ground? Before long, we shall all be entirely in its cool, dark embrace. This, in truth, is the creed that allows me to carry on.

Your humble servant,

Mother