Although we’ve all read “Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout,” we tend to let the recycling pile waaaay up. And then fall over. And then pile on top of the fallen-over pile. And then we miss recycling day because it’s every other week instead of every week and we can ever remember which one it is and the truck comes at the crack of dawn and…well, there’s always a pile of cans, paper, and Amazon boxes next to the back door.
Monday, I noticed that handwritten notes on wee scraps of paper had scattered across the kitchen. I picked them up, unsure which kid they were from, since they have nearly identically dreadful handwriting. I saw this:
As I gathered them, I saw that they were all little notes passed at the Model UN conference Julianna attended at Johns Hopkins a few weeks ago. She was representing Yemen on a reproductive rights panel (not a nuanced position, to be sure).
The fact that most of the kids have the same handwriting they had in 3rd grade, makes these all the more hilarious to me. If I’d been able to see an i dotted with a heart, it would have been perfect.
I’m pretty sure the floor of the actual UN is just littered with notes like these. It explains a lot, really.