Dear Andy, Ben, Georgia, Quinn and of course, Elvis,
You all know (at least you BETTER know) that Mothers Day is a mere four days away. While you have never disappointed me on this, the holiest of days for a harried mom, I am hoping that you could indulge me this year. I mean, REALLY indulge me. And I’m not talking about breakfast in bed or a spa day; what I have in mind is even better.
Ben – You’re a 12 year old boy, and you’re gross. I get it. You’re no different than every other guy your age. But if you could stop coming home from soccer and baseball practice, taking off your nasty socks and leaving them (inside out, of course) in various places on the first floor, I’d appreciate it. Playing “follow the smell” while pouring my morning coffee is not my idea of starting the day off right.
Georgia – My girl. You are the one little bit of estrogen-solidarity I have in this crazy house, but my request may not be an easy one. I beg that you never make me buy you clothes at Justice again. EVER. I’ve made no secret of my disdain for this store but after two years, I’ve reached my limit. I cringe every time you receive another one of their gift cards. My eyes hurt looking at the neon t-shirts inside the store, and the bubble gum pop music by One Direction/Bieber/Disney-Diva-du-jour that’s being piped through the speakers makes my teeth itch. I’ve done it for years. I know you love it. But it’s time…let me take you anywhere else. From the Gap to Newbury Street, we’ll buy you an outfit in a color found on this planet. It would be the greatest gift you could give.
Quinn – Well, my boy, your present came two weeks early as you have finally, after six months, mastered the art of pooping on the potty! I am proud and relieved (no pun intended) that diapers are officially a part of the past. Granted, you are SO regular that I wonder if you are part earthworm but I’m not complaining. Now if you can just work on: learning your middle name (Andrew), not dragging the dog across the floor by his collar and that a squirrel is a disgusting rodent not to be approached while cooing, “aww, look at dat cute chick-munk!” then we’ll be good to go.
Andy – I ask that you clean the Laundry Room. One of the 700 junk emails I got today was from Real Simple and titled, “The Space You Should Be Cleaning, But Aren’t.” Against my better judgment (while hoovering lunch at my desk), I read it. Did you know that we are living in a DEATH TRAP (not to mention pure squalor) by not getting through the 21 steps on the checklist? Apparently it’s not enough to swipe the fire-hazard-of-a-lint-trap; you need to remove, wash and scrub with a toothbrush to properly clean it. With a toothbrush, Andy! And don’t even get me started on disconnecting the dryer hose and getting all the funk inside of THAT thing out. Anyway, reading this article stressed me out when I realized that I’d never have the time to do it so I’d like for you to handle this. And you know me well enough that inevitably I’ll be dissatisfied with the job you’re doing and wind up cleaning it myself, but just kick things off and I’ll be one happy mom.
Elvis – Since I recently learned the hard way that you are one of the four dogs in the history of the world who gets carsick, I’m going to have to ask that you get over your emotional issues and learn to be in the house alone without eating through metal, wood or electrical cords that are plugged into the wall. Thanks (and woof).
Guys, I love being your mom. And if my Mothers Day gets me everything on this list, I will be the luckiest lady in the world. So make your Mama proud and give me what I really want this year. I’ll meet you in the Laundry Room.