Confessions

An Open Letter To Myself In Twelve Years

Dear 45 year old Claire:

I assume you are reading this for one of the following reasons:

  • Every woman in the house has PMS right now.
  • Your daughter has a “boy issue” and has locked herself in her room after screaming how much she hates you.
  • Your son and his friends just ate the dinner you prepared early, mistaking slow cooked ribs for his after school snack.
  • One of the kids crashed the car.
  • One of the kids crashed someone else’s car.
  • The school found pot in the locker belonging to your child.
  • You just found porn in the browser history of your laptop and your email is receiving non-stop unsolicited X-rated ads every hour.
  • Nobody is listening to you.

Take heart. You have forgotten how far you’ve come. Consider this:

  • Your back does not hurt from carrying an 18 pound sack of live water weight in and out of the car three times a day in ninety-degree-one-hundred-percent-humidity weather.
  • You do not have poop on your clothes.
  • You did not get pooped on in the middle of the grocery store, nor did you have to bathe any of your children at all today, let alone in a grocery store sink.
  • You have not done anyone else’s laundry besides your own in several years.
  • You have not been chasing down a smell in the house and you did not find a poopy diaper that had fallen behind the dryer two days ago.
  • Though you may feel like you have been repeating yourself for the last few years, at least you can speak in more than three-word sentences, and you are no longer double checking to see that all of your children are wearing underwear.
  • After cooking dinner, you got to sit down and eat without having to serve and cut three portions into teeny tiny pieces. You did not throw any leftovers into a blender. You don’t even have to deal with leftovers anymore!
  • You did not miss that diaper sale last week at CVS.
  • You went grocery shopping alone today. You heard yourself think. You enjoyed an entire cup of coffee before it got cold.
  • You do not have poop on your clothes.

Published by claire

I realize I lack tact. I realize I often speak/type and inadvertently hurt feelings as a result. But I strongly maintain that if the majority of humanity would simply succumb to saying what they mean without worry of how it sounds, sensitivity rates would drop, globally, and perhaps world peace would be at hand.

One thought on “An Open Letter To Myself In Twelve Years”

  1. Charming. The poop in the clothes argument seems particularly convincing, while the 18 pound sack of live water weight seems like a real threat to me right now.

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