Dear Family,
Hello, my beloved crew! It’s your ever-dedicated mother here — the master of locating lost items, the champion of matching socks, and the one who cleans up after all the little messes you seem to make without a second thought.
Last night, I noticed you devoured a peanut M&M that had been lounging on the floor of our car since Halloween, yet you find my lovingly prepared semi-homemade dinner unappetizing, drowning it in ranch dressing while I’m sitting right beside you.
So here’s a thought: with the delightful glass of wine I’m enjoying, I’m feeling generous and think you can whip up your own dinner tonight. Why not try a PB&J? Go wild with the jam. Just remember to tidy up afterward, okay? In this house, the rule is simple: if you make a mess, you clean it up. I know you can remember this, especially since you recall the Lego set I couldn’t find for your birthday five years ago, despite my exhaustive search.
I do all this out of love, and I want to see you happy. So please, do me a favor and find your own shoes. If I’m in the bathroom with the door closed, or sharing a moment with your father, it’s not the time to ask if we have any chips. Just take a look in the pantry. It might save us all some trouble.
I often think you believe my hobbies involve cleaning up after you. Well, here’s a secret: I don’t enjoy it. If you happen to make a mess on the toilet seat, near it, or even on the wall, it’s your responsibility to clean it up. It’s not a piece of art; it’s a mess that needs to be dealt with.
I might be losing my mind over the constant reminders I have to give. I’ve heard your eyes roll when I reach my limit, and you’ve even said, “OK, calm down, Mom.” There wouldn’t be a need for me to raise my voice if you could just manage the simple tasks, like putting on pants so we can get to school on time.
As for your sweatshirt, I have no clue where it is. My mind is preoccupied with how to juggle your basketball practice and dentist appointments. If it’s not on you, it should either be in your drawer or in the laundry basket. I suspect it’s probably balled up under your bed or left in the back of the car. Just remember, a sweatshirt doesn’t belong in those places.
And if the trash can is overflowing with coffee grounds and banana peels, it would be great if you could take it out instead of telling me how much it grosses you out.
You are more than capable of handling things on your own. Before you ask me about something, try to see if you can solve it yourself. Trust me, it’ll be a magical experience — almost like watching Mary Poppins in action.
With all my love,
Your devoted mother
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