Now, I know it must be shocking; so maybe you should sit down.
I don't always relish watching your racecar transform into a robot. I don't live for those moments when you say; "Joyce! You know what?!" And then spend the next eleven minutes explaining how a Tide pencil removed the green marker stain off of your corduroy school pants.
Sometimes the echo of your screaming richoting off my cold, turquoise painted cement basement walls make me want to pull at my hair.
At times your insistence on going behind the couch to defile your pull-up makes my once alto voice become ever so slightly soprano. Not noticable to the untrained ear though; of that I am sure.
In light of these disclosures, I want to reassure you that the highest quality of patience and longsuffering shall prevail. We have no need of:
Walks to the playground.
We have the turquoise basement.
It's all we need.
We have never been more happy, or excited at the prospect of a long wet spring, followed by a mosquito infested, humid summer.
A short summer, that is.
(someone please call 911......_