This is your mother speaking. You know, that insane person who runs around thinking she gets to tell you what to do because she pushed you out of her nether region? And yes, I just said Nether Region. I could have said Lady Garden. Or worse.
Quit covering your face, Doodlebug. It's not that bad.
Anyway, this letter is from that woman.
You are 11 going on Hellspawn and 8 going on Obnoxious. I can see the signs written in your blank stares and shrieks of agony when I speak to you, and I know that within the next year or two, everything I say is going to go in one ear and out the… excuse me. EXCUSE ME. HEY!! I'm talking to you!!
Dammit, let's start again.
ATTENTION, CHILDREN, THIS IS YOUR FOOD-GIVER SPEAKING.
Ahh, yes, that did the trick. Now, eyes on me and at least pretend to listen for the next 45 seconds, and then you can return to whatever electronic device you were staring at. Otherwise there will be no snack/FaceTime later, whichever consequence annoys you the most.
OK. In the next few years, and this will probably start in the next few months, you will no longer wish to acknowledge my presence in public. In fact, you probably won't want to acknowledge my presence at home, either, but you certainly will never, ever want to go out in public with me, and you won't want anyone to know who it is in the SUV that's dropping you off at or picking you up from school, and quite frankly you'll probably prefer that I just drop you off at a friend's house each morning so you can pretend I don't exist at all.
Sadly, that is not how this is going to go down.
Here is what will happen as you get older:
I will expect things of you. This might - gasp! - include you doing chores. Do them, or there will be consequences. Everyone in this house does chores, including you. You are not special enough to escape the gravitational pull of chores. You are also NOT the only person in this world who has to do chores. Drama Girl, I'm looking at you.
If you eat it and finish it, throw away the empty container and add it to the grocery list. If you eat someone else's food that they bought for themselves or were given, they get to be mad at you. Hobbit Boy, this time I'm looking at you.
If you finish a toilet paper roll, replace it. Kleenex is not an acceptable substitute. Not wiping is not an acceptable substitute. Yes, you must flush the toilet. It is not a brain-eating monster. Believe me, at some point in your college years, it will probably be your best friend for an evening or two. However, if you flush something down the toilet - or sink - that shouldn't ever, ever be flushed or drained and clog my septic, you will explain to me, Daddy, and the plumbing company what it was and why you flushed it or you will pay the bill. Take your pick. This time you're both getting The Eye.
If you want to have friends over, I need to be able to see the floor in your room and the white in the toilet. I'm not asking for pristine; I'm asking for my house not to reek of sweat/hairspray/nail polish remover/pee/things I don't want to think about.
If you want to have friends over, take a shower. Otherwise you won't have any friends to invite. And by 'shower,' I don't mean squat over the drain like you live in a third-world country... Doodlebug. I mean stand up and actually wash yourself. With soap.
If these above things don't seem to be happening, I will be there. I will remind you. Things will disappear if they invade my space, and if you don't see them again, it's because they're in the nearby Goodwill store or landfill. Take your pick.
Just because you don't acknowledge me doesn't mean I don't exist.
Just because you don't acknowledge me doesn't mean I don't love you.
Because I do.
I will be a HORRIBLE, MEAN MOM. I will be the Gatekeeper of the Pantry. I will be the person you loathe with every cell in your being (and I'm pretty sure the air around you will vibrate with the intensity of your hate). I will be the person you rant about to your friends. Fine. We are a passionate family, and it may be a rocky road, but I'll be there with you. And even when you scream at me, yet again, that I'm a HORRIBLE, MEAN MOM but follow that up with, "Can I have a hug?" I will be there to say yes.
Because no matter what, you're my babies.
That came out of my nether regions.