My apologies for the long gap in posting, I’ve been really sick for weeks! Thankfully I am finally about 98% back to myself, with a very practical post for you.

Because life does, in fact, go on whether I’m healthy or not, a couple weeks ago we celebrated my kiddo’s birthday. While her birthday is a wonderful mark of time and always full of joy and fun, it also fills me with anxiety each year, for the entire month of March. Each year at this time, I wait for the inevitable package from my mother, containing a birthday gift and a sickeningly saccharine note claiming the title of “Nonna” (Grandma in Italian). I anticipate the box filled with guilt trips and expectations, attempts to reclaim my love and to buy the love of a little girl she has never met, will never meet, and has no right to meet. I try my best to prepare myself for the pain that will fill my heart when I see what nostalgic heartstrings she tugs on this time. (You see, they aren’t just random gifts a child might like – they’re items that I either had owned and loved as a kid, or that I really wanted back then. They aren’t just gifts for a child she thinks she’s got a connection with, they’re targeted messages to me.)

Who knew cardboard boxes would become such a trigger for me, of all things?

Sure enough, a few days before her birthday (my mother doesn’t know the actual birthdate of my daughter, thankfully), there was a large box from Amazon on our porch. I knew what it was because my mother is the only one who sends packages addressed directly to my daughter. I was having a difficult day, and this had put me over the edge; I brought the box inside, set it down by the door, and then proceeded to shamelessly kick the shit out of it. I kicked the box so hard that it burst open, and then saw that it contained a bunch of board games which had been my favorites when I was young. This latest package was my last straw.

For a long time I’ve felt frustrated by the fact that I can’t just block her packages because Amazon uses countless vendors, so I would have no way of preventing each and every one of them from sending things to me if she were so inclined. But this time…I was done. I decided to call Amazon to see if there was anything they could do to help.

Good news, folks – they can!

I want to share this information in case there are any readers of this blog out in the universe who ever get into a similar situation, where they’re receiving unsolicited packages. Here’s what you do.

The form is on their website, but if you’re not able to easily find it, contact their customer service and explain that you are receiving packages from someone you don’t want to receive them from. They can send you a link to the form via email. It is called a “Report Unwanted Packages” form, and it’s pretty simple. You have to answer a few questions about the package(s), and you need at least one tracking number from an unwanted package. I specifically asked if I would need tracking numbers from all the packages my mother has sent me over the years, because I don’t have all that (I try to get rid of these things as quickly as possible). I was assured that only one tracking number is required.

They explain that it does take a little time for them to conduct the investigation and process the request, during which time there still may be more unwanted packages that arrive. But once they process the request and approve it, the individual sending you stuff gets blocked from sending things to your address. Problem solved.

Well – problem hopefully solved. The results are to be determined, and I will always have some low-thrumming level of apprehension with every birthday and holiday, wondering if she will strike again. And, of course, this only works for packages shipped through Amazon. But I am optimistic that this will really help. Meanwhile, over the years, I’ve done my best to donate and repurpose all that she sends to me, so that it helps others in one way or another and I don’t directly benefit from or end up utilizing any of the stuff. Maybe that sets the karma of all these things to rights as well. If you believe in that sort of thing.

The other good news that came from all this is that I remembered how therapeutic kickboxing used to be for me. Once I truly am over this sickness, I’ll be looking for a kickboxing class to join!

Stay healthy and safe out there, everybody. And don’t put up with bullshit a second longer than you have to. Block the phone calls. Filter the emails to the trash bin. Report the unwanted packages. Fuck all that noise.