An Open Letter to My Children: Something Has to Change

Hello Darlings,

It would seem that we have gotten a bit off track here as of late.  You see, I can’t help but get the feeling that we aren’t understanding each other very well when it’s time to get out the door each morning.  Let me break it down for you:

Every morning, from Monday to Friday, your job is to go to school.  My job is to get you there.  Simple, right?  Wrong.

In theory, you all know you’re going to end up at school somehow, but I don’t think you really spend much time thinking through the process of how that is going to happen.  For example, when I call out, “Time for school!  Everyone get ready!”, you all seem to hear, “Quick, hide!  Bonus points if you loose a sock!”

And when I finally do get your attention, I’ll sometimes throw your snowsuit at you and raise my eyebrows in that meaningful way that means, “You really need to put this on now!”  Apparently that isn’t clear enough for you.  I apologize.  What you seem interpret from my strained facial expression is, “Oh sweethearts, I know that putting on your snowsuit is truly one of life’s most insurmountable challenges.  I couldn’t possibly expect you to do it quickly, without tears or without my help!”

Then, when I see you all lying on the floor in a pitiful heap of defeat, it becomes apparent that my cries to “Hurry Up!” have been understood to mean, “Pretend you are paralyzed!”.  

That brings us to that glorious moment in the morning when my eye begins to twitch.  Some of you look upon me fondly as though this is an endearing quirk of mine, while some of you view it as a challenge to see who can make the twitch go faster.  To clarify, my loves, the twitch means I’m about three seconds away from Bat Shit Crazy, so yes, I’m fully prepared at this point to walk you into your classroom, late, while wearing my underwear as a hat.  Try me.

Finally, it is with nothing but love that I want to clear up the following instructions for you.

  • “Get in the Van!” does not mean: “Jump in the snowbanks and roll around in order to get snow down your jacket, then scream and cry that it’s my fault!”
  • “Please put your seat belts on” does not mean: “Please sit on the floor of the van and search for a toy that you think you may have lost there last year”.
  • “Stop screaming!” really, really does not mean:  “Let’s see who can break mom first!”

So there you have it, my precious angels.  I hope that helps to make our mornings run a little more smoothly.  Hopefully we can put this little glitch in communication behind us so that together we can one day look back upon our mornings with laughter and affection, rather than from the awkwardness of our therapist’s couch.

All My Love,




12 thoughts on “An Open Letter to My Children: Something Has to Change

  1. Honey, I have ONE child, who is 13. And I live in India – far far far away from you.
    I have the exact same mornings that you describe.
    Makes you wonder, no?


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