A Note to My Children

Dear Children,

First off, whoever took my dustpan and small broom, I'd love to have it back. I don't care what you were using it for. I don't care what you did with it. In fact, I don't think I even want to know. I want it back. It would come in dang handy considering someone took it upon themselves to dump sugar all over the kitchen floor at some point this morning.

But, you didn't tell me that either, whoever you are who did that. Oh, no. I found out when I walked barefooted to the kitchen and my feet were reminiscent of cake donuts with a sugary coating. This did not please me. Nothing like sticky feet and a sticky floor to say hello.

Speaking of floors and cleaning up, the next time I tell you not to give the cat a bath, I mean it. Honestly, I don't speak just to hear myself talk. I realize this old cat doesn't have the best personal hygiene, and grooming himself is not up there in the top ten ways to spend his time. But, I was not kidding when I said the last time I bathed the cat, he tried going out the kitchen window - glass, screen and all. When I mentioned I had to bandage a few scratches, I wasn't exaggerating.

I'd also love to know how the process, yeah, the one I told you not to do, took four large bath towels. I know it's not a kitten, but geez Louise, you weren't bathing a tiger in the bathtub. I found two towels in the tub and two on the floor that were sopping wet. I don't think it's worth my while to ask why there were a pair of wet underwear in the tub as well. There are somethings I don't want to know.

There's this thing called "brotherly love." Oh, I do know that most of the time the phrase is used in jest, like right after you two try to beat the holy crap out of each other. Honestly, I believe whole-heartedly that some day you two will grow up and understand you're lucky to have a brother. One of these days, you two might need to count on each other for support. I know, I know, you can't pick your family, but sometimes you have to make the best of what you've been given. I know you think I'm full of crap when I say you should count your blessings, but someday, you might see it for yourself.

Could we please keep the Kung-fu ninja moves to a bare minimum? Must we raise our voices to speak to one another from a different room? Really, there's no need to yell out a window when you're affixed with two feet that could carry you out front to your brother to ask him what he did with the DVD player remote.

As you both might realize, summer vacation is almost over. I've spent many hours with you two this summer, and as you might notice, mamma's running low on tolerance and patience for your shenanigans.

Mamma is weary. She's tired of four loads of laundry daily when you change in and out of your swim trunks, only to put on clean clothes each time. She might burst into a fit of tears the next time you open the fridge and lament, "There's NEVER anything good to eat," even though I've filled every request you've made since the end of May.

Point being, your mother is close to her breaking point. She didn't want to see the movie "Hairspray" the second time, much less the eighteenth time. Same goes for "Super Bad," "Harry Potter," "The Simpson's Movie," and "Knocked Up."

No, I really am not going to take it upon myself to open a can of whoop ass, as I might have promised to do. As one of you little smart-mouthed individuals said oh so eloquently, "Going to eat your spinach, little lady?" But is it the slightest bit possible you could cut your mother a break?

It's nothing personal when I tell you I anticipate the return to school as much as hitting the lottery right now. Dirty clothes, milk curdling in cups, candy wrappers, and various handtools strewn about do not make me smile. We have things like hampers, kitchen sinks, wastebaskets, and toolboxes located at many convienient locations throughout our home. Please use them.

When my temples start to throb, it's not my heart beating with mad, mad love for you boys. It's a warning sign. It says take cover 'cause she's going to blow. A few minutes of peace and quiet, an effort here and there to clean up after yourselves, and no knock-down-drag-out-fights would be muchly appreciated. It's cheaper than mood-altering medications, and it would definitely make me smile.

So how about it? If nothing else, could I please have my dustpan back?

With much love,
Your Mother