Knit 1, Crochet 2

A letter to my children

My darling children,

I write this to both of you knowing you will never read it. Why? Because God forbid we actually read anything that isn't

1 - homework, of which you will complain incessantly and wait until the last minute to read 20 chapters
2 - your friend's My Space
3 - the life story of whatever celebrity/sports figure you love this week
4 - the Victoria's Secret catalog (yes, both of you).

And what better way to do it, than on my blog where hundreds a couple of people can read it and share my misery and make fun of you?

First - Your grandparents (God love them, they must have felt sorry for me that Christmas) bought you both boom boxes capable of reaching ear-shattering volumes. That are in your rooms. Therefore, it is not necessary for you to blast the latest Daddy Yankee (why is he called that, anyway? He is from Puerto Rico and didn't speach English until recently. But I digress.) song, complete with video, from the computer in the great room so I can't hear the voices in my head telling me to run away from home.

And while we are on that subject...I don't want to see the video. I didn't want to see it on tv, I don't want to see it on the computer and I sure don't want to see the "Mom, you gotta see this hot guy" video the 10th time you ask. It sucks just as bad the first time you asked.

Second - My darling Princess. It is not necessary for you to scream at the top of your freaking lungs at your brother for all the injustices he has placed upon your pampered and spoiled life. When I hear your brother's name in elongated (that means, dear, that you make his name in 14 syllables instead of the 2 it actually is) screeches it makes me want to run from the house screaming myself. While I know it is worthy of World War 5, your brother taking 2 extra minutes to get off the computer/get off the phone/finish with the milk is not worthy of the volumes you can raise your voice to. The neighbors are complaining. And your mother is praying she becomes deaf.

Third - Dearest Baseball Star. Plain and simple, stop annoying your sister. Don't throw candy wrappers at her, try to trip her, knock on her door and run or do any of the 5 million other things you do that cause her to make The Noise (see second point). We all know you are home, you don't need to do stupid and attention grabbing things to remind us. And while I'm talking to you, I should let you know something else. I love you. However, I do not want to see you act out your Xbox game for the 1,000th time in the middle of the living room while I'm watching a movie. Yes, it is highly interesting how you scored that touchdown. The first time.

And finally. Yes, you both have to do chores and yes you both have a bedtime. I'm sure that it totally sucks Cheerio holes that you have to actually do something around the house ::cough:: Baseball Star ::cough::, but I'm not a maid/laundress/chef. And, while all your friends might not have a bed time, you do. Get over it. When you graduate high school you can go to bed whatever time you want. You aren't missing much by "staying up a half hour, Mom".

In closing, remember that I love you with all my heart. However, you are both driving me freaking insane. Also remember that should I go completely insane, you will have to be the ones to take care of me when I'm a dribbling idiot who needs to be fed all her meals.

Love,
Your mother

Posted by Heather at 12:46 PM