Listen here kids,
Enough is enough.
This week has been one of the hardest since assuming my position as CEO of Stratton Inc.
All three of you are driving me insane.
Some more than others (READ: Chloe)
One day all three of you will leave this house.
And while I usually try to savor you in all your teeny tiny goodness,
as I nurse Stella,
in the kitchen,
four shots of espresso deep,
while making you other two a quesadilla,
being careful not to burn her toes,
or my boobs,
which, let's be honest, aren't exactly sitting pretty like they used to be,
knowing wholeheartedly you will throw this quesadilla on the floor,
while standing in your high chair,
after me telling you to sit down for the 642nd time,
whilst shaking your grubby little fingers taunting me with your "no no no no no".
this week I am not.
savoring you in your teeny tiny goodness, that is.
I'm ready for an extended vacation.
Like, it may be time for you to move out.
So I started thinking, and moving you out at twenty months and three months isn't a sound option.
I realized, more than likely, we've got a good 16 years before I will get a break.
And I came up with a plan.
Something to look forward to
on days, or weeks like this.
You will be attending college, and that will more than likely be on our dime.
So while you are wasting away our
hard earned cash
at the campus watering hole
drinking cheap beer thinking you've won.
Please know, that as long as your father and I are sending you a check on the reg,
the following will occur:
You keep me up. All the time. I want sleep.
So, while you are trying to sleep off your hangover?
Expect phone calls. Lots of them. Turn your phone off? I will cancel your service.
I don't have time to get dressed. I put on what smells the "cleanest" and dip.
So when you need to be somewhere at a certain time please know I will take my time before hopping in the car to chauffeur you all around God's green earth.
You tell me no. A lot.
Expect to hear it back. A lot.
You take all my money.
No more True Religion or Tory Burch.
A portion of your Christmas and Birthday money goes back to me, baby.
You don't listen.
I won't either. Especially when you are asking for an extension on your curfew.
Let's just say I will be catching up on my sleep. And on nights that you go out? I will be awake to make sure you're home. Safe.
What does that mean to you? An early curfew, obviously.
Every one always tells me how good you are. This means you are different children when I'm not around.
I will not let my pride get in the way.
I don't care about being the "chill" mom.
I will be different around your friends.
And not in a good way.
You destroy this house.
Expect it back. Ten fold.
I will come to your house for dinner, use a different fork for every course and dip.
I won't do dishes.
Think I'm lying? Ask Grandpa P. He told me the same when I was young.
I didn't believe him.
I do now.
Please don't find it weird when I decide I am done at your dinner table and instead of taking my plate to the kitchen, I throw it across the room.
Or, if I don't like what you serve? I'll just throw it on the floor.
I hope it will be liquid. So I can dump the bowl. It makes for a more interesting clean up.
On your part, that is.
Holy moley. Laundry.
Think you're bringing home bags for me to do?
Forget about it.
You will be doing mine. With a smile.
Don't change mine? You're out of the will.
This one is kind of weird
but today, I'm feeling it.
Unless you all have three kids under two.
Then I will give you a break.
But, only if you tell me you understand what I went through every day.
Out loud. Every day.
And you must tell me that I am one hell of a mother. Every day.
Please note, this list is to be continued and subject to change.
Like, every day you make me a little nuttier, I will add on. It will make me feel better.
I will win, in the end.
Your crazy mother