An open letter to my children

8
I don’t think they suspect anything.

Dear Sweet Fruit of My Loins,

 

Someday, you are going to be all grown up, and I will be very sad. I will be sad that you will no longer be my babies or fit in the crooks of my arms. I will be sad not to have your little arms flung around my waist in bear hugs. I will be sad not to have pictures of Jedi knights wielding light sabers drawn in my honor. I will be sad not to hear your little giggles or see the little smiles that make your eyes crinkle just so.

I am sure I will cry.

Some of my tears, though, will be happy tears. You know why? Because I will get to find you wherever you live and come inside the home that you tend to so carefully (or not). And then — and not without a little joy — I will tear all the cushions off the couches, throw the blankets on the floor, scatter dirty athletic socks everywhere, including under the sheets of your bed, eat many, many snack foods and leave the trash and crumbs strewn about randomly, disassemble various and sundry household items for no good reason, pee on your bathroom floors, write my name with a Sharpie marker on your walls, drop juice box straw wrappers about the hallways, and sprinkle Moon Sand far and wide so that it gets into every crevice in your house. Including your beds.

Every day.

For months.

Don’t say you weren’t warned.

 

I look forward with a song in my heart,

Your Loving Mother.

8 Replies to “An open letter to my children”

  1. I love it! I’ll also make sure to cry when they tell me, “No.” And burst into the bathroom while they’re trying to use the facilities.

  2. Don’t forget about leaving dirty white socks on the couch, the stairs, the middle of the kitchen floor:) And tiny, tiny Lego pieces – swords, heads, wheels – in EVERY room.

  3. I also believe that in your case they should be forced to chauffeur you around while you decorate their car interiors with stickers and hide at least one decomposing item in an unreachable spot.

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