An Open Letter

Dear Sister,

I know you disappeared this weekend under the guise of a professional conference. In some places, that may be acceptable. What I want to know is how in the world you justify leaving me here with these kids alone?! On a weekend when the only kids’ movie that’s playing here, we saw last weekend and the summertime temperatures mean we won’t be pursuing too many outdoor activities.

Friday night wasn’t so bad—it appears even they know the rules about said day and time. But at 8 am this morning, I discovered they have no respect for others’ sleep. I happened to roll over and there was The Kid, peering at me, freaking me the hell out. “Mama,” he said, “May I get on the computer?” to which I responded, “Boy, it is Saturday morning! I am trying to sleep.”

I have vague memories of both of them waking me up more times in the next thirty minutes: “What can we eat? There’s no milk!” and “He’s taking too long in the bathroom!” When I did roll over, their hard-headed asses were on the computer anyway, looking at me all big-eyed and pretending to be frightened. And then your child tried to cover his ass by noting, “He won’t share the computer!”

I instructed them to go do something productive. Wary of my wrath, they decided to clean the living room. Only, they sprayed furniture polish everywhere and neglected to wipe it all up. And somehow, the vacuum magically started smoking and burning. Again, your kid, the consummate ass protector, told me, “I been meaning to tell y’all to buy an new vacuum cleaner.”

Apparently, my surprise trip to the living room broke up some food-sneaking. Your son ran to the bathroom to pee when I appeared. When I went in there, there was the wrapper of an ice cream bar along with the stick in the toilet. And he hadn’t flushed. Since I was not about to stick my hand in, I had to flush three times to make sure it wouldn’t overflow while almost peeing on myself.

But were these shepherds of the devil content there? Oh, no. They began the most annoying tattling—“He passed gas!” “He moved one of your pictures.” “I want a honey bun because he ate some graham crackers.” Oh and my favorite—“He threw that rubber ball in the light thing and the light is on! I smell it!”

And, when I dared ask them why they were acting like maniacs, they shrugged their shoulders. I hate that! So I told them to take a nap. Your son immediately had complaints that wouldn’t let him rest peacefully. “My two fingers hurt,” he said. “Are they broken?” I asked. “No!” “Too bad.” And then he got up to tell me, “My head is soft.” “It sure is,” I agreed.

And so goes the day. I’ve probably revised all of three pages of this chapter. They have had to clean up the same areas repeatedly. They’ve probably only read a combined total of ten words between them. And they keep tattling. “Y’all are not from Louisiana,” I finally told them, “because if somebody was bothering you, you wouldn’t just keep talking about it!” Was I directly encouraging them to fight? No! I was… well, hell, yes, I was!

But I am writing to 1) Let you know this cannot happen again before they are teenagers or before we have a live in nanny and 2) confirm exactly what time you are leaving your hotel. Do you need us to meet you halfway? Do you have enough gas money? Is there anything that may impinge upon your journey back?

Tearfully Prayerfully,

elle