And Yet ANOTHER Open Letter To My Children

Hey kids,

It’s me again, your mother. It seems we have some things to, once again, discuss. Minor things? Maybe to you. But to me, they all add up and become one GINORMOUS blob.

First of all, let’s discuss the word MINE. There is no OURS or YOURS in mine. No, in fact, there is ME and I in MINE. Which, when translated into teen language means…stay out of my stuff. MY stuff.

I hate it when I get into the shower and reach for my shampoo and conditioner and…HOLY SHIT…it’s not there. Which means, I have to get out of the shower, sopping wet, and go in search of them. Usually, I find them in YOUR shower. Strange, huh? I wonder how they get there. I should know by now, of course, to check to make sure that my stuff is in my shower before entering but, you know what? I SHOULDN’T HAVE TO.

Wanna hear this crazy idea?

OK…ready?

It’s like this…if you are out of YOUR products, tell us so that when we go shopping, we can buy some. INSTEAD of using up all of mine and NOT even telling me when THAT happens.

Also…
My make-up. Yeah…same rule applies.

And my brush. I don’t want your hair in my brush. I love you but no. Once again, it’s mine. You have your own. Not my fault it’s lost in the deep despair of underneath your bed or in the black hole of your bathroom drawer.

Next on the agenda…

Our house. Again, no I, ME, MINE in the word OUR.

Which means…more than one person lives here. The foyer? Not your garbage receptacle. Neither is the couch, the floor of the living room, the kitchen table, the table in the foyer, the dining room…

Actually, not even your bedroom.

There are 7 of us that live in this house and billions of people living on this planet. It’s not all about YOU. I’m hoping someday that you get it. Otherwise, I feel sorry for anyone who lives with you after you move out of this house.

Dishes.

You use them, you put them a) in the sink if the dishwasher is full or b)in the dishwasher if it’s dirty. AND…if the dishwasher is clean and needs to be emptied? You were given two hands and a brain. Use them. It LITERALLY takes me 5 minutes to empty the dishwasher. You guys? It might take an hour between texting, checking FB, posing for duck faces and etcetera, etcetera. I don’t care HOW LONG it takes you…just do it.

Let’s discuss glasses while we are on the subject of dishes. One per customer, please. You use a glass, put it aside. Like I said, there are 7 of us. I’m sick of doing 2 loads of glasses a day.

If I wanted to live with pigs, I would have been a pig farmer. Or a college student living in a frat house.

But…I’m a mom. And I’m outnumbered.

I’ve tried the whole “Mom on Strike” thing and it backfired in my face, creating a bigger mess for Dad and I to clean up.

Here’s the plan of action:

You don’t help me, I don’t help you.

Period.

You want a ride somewhere but your room is a disgusting bottomless pit of a mess? I’m too busy checking my Facebook and posing for duck faces.

You need money so you can go to dinner and see a movie? What have you done to deserve this money besides breathe? If you aren’t going to do anything around here that is deserving of my hard earned dollar…get yourself a little job.

All of you? This is INEXCUSABLE. Your behavior. Your entitled attitudes. Your lack of drive and initiative. The whole shebang.

It’s definitely partially my fault, I’ll admit it. But now you are teenagers and you are getting closer and closer to embarking on a life’s journey, one which I won’t necessarily be a part of. I won’t be there to hold your hand. I won’t be there to yell at you, roll my eyes and then, inevitably, clean up after you. It’ll be all you soon.

And quite frankly, I shudder at that thought.

I love all of you so much that it hurts.

But if you don’t start becoming somewhat responsible, I’m going to have to hurt you.

Love always,

Mommy

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