Captain’s Log, USS Tiny House
Stardate 01092024.
It has now been 11 hours since we entered the Zone of Chilly Isolation (homebound on a snow day). The planet natives have lost all sense of reason and have resorted to poking, pinching, and unintelligible shouting at the captain (Mom) to settle all manner of grievances.
The natives’ bed garments and occasional lack of pants seem to signify a general lack of decorum and grasp of civilized society. Many casualties (of sanity) reported in the Air Battle of the Balloons and Stuffies. Spirits are low. Hope is waning. Crew leadership is tired, dirty, and in need of many hours in the Deep Isolation Chamber.
Though the standard of interstellar diplomacy is severely lacking, all life forms will likely benefit from a warm meal, the arrival of reinforcements (Dad), and several minutes of dancing to incomprehensible German pop music before retiring to their individual sleeping pods.
I will beam down and make a routine check of all facilities when quiet—at long last—falls over the alien landscape.
Modern Farm Wife 
This “Captain’s Log” had me in hysterics!
Your writing is fantastic.
Thank you for sharing.
Your words sure brighten-up this horribly cold weather up here in Canada.
I hope someday, when you have time (time is something mothers never have an excess of) that you will grace us with a book.
I will be first in line to buy it!
Thank you so much, Caroline! We all need to look for humor anywhere it can be found — especially in the world’s subarctic places! Ha. Your encouragement means so much.