A letter to my children

Darling Precious FarmHands,

 

I know you all are ill.  I know you are tired & cranky & do not feel your best.  I have not missed anything about the past 5 days that would leave me to think you are feeling peachy & sparkly. 

 

But, no one will die if you are not given a cup of milk or kool-aid in the next 8 seconds.  The house will not spontaneously combust if you do not get to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas right now.  The world as you know it will not come to an end if you have to take a dose of antibiotic.  It will not cause the death of hundreds if you are asked to throw away your own snotty tissue.

 

If you scream in my face One. More. Time. about anything short of dismemberment, I swear to you on all things holy & good in this world that I will sell you to the Gypsys.  If you hit a sibling, I will sell you to the Gypsys.  If you throw anything else, I will sell you to the Gypsys.  If you so much as look in the direction of another living being in this house under the age of 29, I will sell you to the Gypsys.

 

And yes, the story I told you yesterday as we were leaving the doctor's office and you were all trying to run in different directions instead of walking down the side walk directly to the van while your ill & stressed out mother was attempting to keep the rain off your 7 month old sister's face, was completely factual.  I did indeed have an older brother named Jerome Earl.  He did indeed act out as we were leaving the doctor's office when he was 8 years old , I was 7, Uncle Bubba was 2, and Grammy was VERY pregnant with your Aunt Princess.  Your Grammy did indeed sell him down the river to the Gypsys because she too had had all she could take.  Your Pa took the money & bought himself a red Suzuki motorcycle that he sold to my ex-boyfriend about 9 years ago.  We have not spoken of him since (which is why Grammy didn't mention his name when she was listing off all her kids for you the last 8 times you've asked who her kids were), but we still know how to get in contact with the Gypsys incase the need arises...and yes, Gypsys do have cell phones.

 

Just so you know, when the fourth old man in a row in Wal-Mart yesterday said, "Boy, you sure have your handsfull,"  I was only smiling on the outside.  On the inside I was screaming, "I'm sending them all home with you just because you spoke to me!!"

 

I love you all with every fiber of my being, but I may vaporize you with my lazor vision if you do not get a handle on yourselves immediately.  Your father and I are looking into second rate European boarding schools at the moment.  We're considering using our income tax returns to pay for a semester for each of you.  See you in the spring!

 

Love,

That massively frazzled woman who's dangling from the end of her rapidly fraying rope...the one you call Mom...or perhaps I should change that to Mommy Dearest.

 

P.S.  To those of you who are about to call the Department of Child & Family Services, I don't really have lazor vision...and I don't know any Gypsys (I'm sure they are lovely people on the whole and never ever buy children from over stressed parents).  I just need to rant.