I feel that if my mom were dead right now, her ghost would be cackling at me as I type this. She’s alive so she’ll have to wait until I hit “publish” to laugh at me from her computer room in Montana.
A note to my darling pork-loin-loving children,
I love you dearly but do not share that same level of affection with your personal effects, many of which are doomed to meet an untimely end very shortly.
What do you think happens to a piece of trash if you throw it on the floor instead of in the trash can? Do you think your coat will magically hang itself because that would be wicked cool but I have yet to find a brand of coat that will do that? You seem surprised and annoyed when I pull you away from your latest playtime activity to come downstairs and pick up your ever-loving blessed markers off the floor when I’ve told you ten times not to leave them there. Are you surprised that I noticed they were there, annoyed that I expect you to clean them or are you just surprised to find out that you still have markers when I most likely should have just tossed them after reminder number 6 and annoyed that you’re not tall enough to ride all the cool rides at Disneyland?
In conclusion and to sum up, there’s a place for pretty much everything. Wouldn’t it feel good to put everything in its place?
Your Daring Growing-Older-With-Every-Plastic-Knight-She-Picks-Up Mom
I used to wonder what my mom’s problem was that she cared so much about me leaving ONE THING ON THE GROUND. I now know what her problem was. I know it intimately. It’s not the ONE THING. It’s the one thing FOUR MILLION TIMES each day. It’s the one thing IN THE ROOM I’VE JUST FINISHED CLEANING. It’s the one thing and ALL ITS FRIENDS AND OFFSPRING.
There may be a lot of one things ending up in a Puget Sound area landfill this week.