Dear Diary,

Aunt Linda made pancakes this morning, and let me just say that the smell of sweet, buttery pancakes dolloped in dripping maple syrup was a lot more pleasant to wake up to compared to the shrieks of a baby throwing a tantrum. I did end up falling back to sleep if you're curious. After another half hour of his crying I put earmuffs on and that seemed to really help because pretty soon the screen darkened and the ever exciting and unpredictable magic of mental cinema began. But I really don't want to get into much detail with that. It isn't as important as the pancakes.

Aunt Linda is an artist, and that undeniable fact was thoroughly expressed in everything she did, including her cooking. Each pancake had a unique shape, whether it was a heart or an exquisitely designed likeness of the human face. Even the toppings contributed to their priceless look. Strawberries diced and scattered across a beautiful landscape to represent flower petals and syrup sinking into the cake in just the right places that they look like shadows, making each and every pancake an individual, delectable masterpiece.

"Forget artistry," I told her after what was probably my fifth serving of edible artwork, "You should get on one of those fancy-shmancy cooking shows and get all famous and stuff because this is good stuff!" All she did was give a little chuckle and turn back to the frying pan. Shrugging, I returned my focus to my plate and continued eating heartily.

"So, what did you think of Jonathan last night?" she asked suddenly, keeping her gave fixated on the bubbling batter. Swallowing quickly, I responded.

"You mean the babe next door?"

She nodded. "Yep, that's him alright. Little twerp. Keeps me up all night when he doesn't feel like keeping his mouth shut."

On a normal day, I would've defended a poor, defenseless infant and stare in utter horror at my aunt for saying such things, but this time I had to agree. This baby was a nuisance all last night and I wasn't exactly about to jump to his aid.

"So did you do anything with the box I gave you yesterday?" Man, she was a lot more talkative this morning. Good thing her voice hadn't changed or my head would've been aching more than it already did.

"No, not yet." I wiped my lip with my sleeve and put my fork down.

She turned around from the stove and looked at me. "You really should, then. You've only got a few days' time to fix it up and make it all pretty."

I nodded my head. "Yeah, sure," I said unenthusiastically. If she honestly wanted me to waste my precious time on decorating a stupid craft box, she must be crazier than I had assumed. Excusing myself from the table, I went back into my bedroom to get dressed when I saw you lying on the bedside table and decided to fill you in on recent events. Well, it's off to the Statue of Liberty with me! Ciao!

Love, Maria