To my dear and wonderful children,
I love you very much. But I feel you should know that as you grow and become the amazing people you will be, I am planning ways to get back at you. In love. This will all be done in love.
*I will pick my nose in public and then ask you to take the booger. If you don’t, I will wipe it on your back and you won’t find it until you get undressed that night. So you should probably just take the booger when I offer it.
*I will come into your bedroom every single Saturday morning and jump on your bed at 6:00 am. I will then alternate between screaming and whining until you either cry or make me breakfast. Either one is fine.
*I will not eat anything you make. Ever. As a favor though, I will rotate the use of the words ‘nasty,’ ‘gross,’ ‘disgusting,’ and ‘looks like poop’ so you never know what’s coming.
*When you have friends over I will come and tell you every time someone looks at me weird, makes a mean face, knocks over my stuff, breathes on me, or talks to me. Or if they don’t do any of those things I’ll let you know they’re ignoring me.
*I will always ask you questions when you’re on the toilet. I will walk in and comment on your thighs and cellulite and ask why your bottom looks so different than mine.
*I will spill wine (because I’m a freaking grown-up and I can drink all the wine I want) all over your clothes right before you leave the house. But you won’t be able to change because then I’ll start crying and you’ll have to comfort me.
*I will unfold all the laundry you fold. All of it. The rest of your life. I'm serious, kid. It's gonna be epic.
*I will wet my pants in public and then just stand there in the middle of the Target One Spot and yell that I did so. Bonus points if I can eke out a turd.
*I will make very inappropriate statements to strangers at every opportunity. That nose ring looks like a booger, you have owies all over your face, your breath smells like poop. That kind of thing.
I’m sure I’ll think of more, but for now I’ll just file these away for future use. Payback’s a—very unpleasant thing, kids.