Thank God they're all self-adhesive these days

My mother tends to accumulate a bunch of small things throughout the year to pass along to her children. Apparently, she manages to hit every Wal-mart, flea market, and garage sale within a two hundred mile radius, and, generous soul that she is, if she sees something that makes her think of one of her grandkids, she picks it up and adds it to the box. For example, a dancing, light-flashing, snowman that plays 'Frosty the Snowman' at an INCREDIBLY LOUD VOLUME made her think of the Critter. (The dancing part made the Critter laugh, but the agony of my face after an hour straight of Frosty the Snowman at volumes that would make Bruce Dickinson wince gave her an absolute giggle fit.)

At the end of the year, the box is apparently big enough to require about a dozen books of commemorative Zydeco bands of the 1940's stamps. Now some people would just pay the postage directly, and let the post office do their magic. But some people aren't my mother. Either the Post Office in glorious Pleasant Shade, TN (population 47 - with nearly that many teeth between them) doesn't have one of those postage machines, or she's been saving up stamps in preparation for this day. It may have taken her an extra two and a half hours to line up the necessary stamps in the proper & visible order, but, by God, the package made it to the UK!

If you're reading this, Mom, I want you to know that I will get you back for that damn snowman...