Let The Good Times Roll!

Dear Sir and Madam:

It it with a heavy heart and much regret that I feel the need to inform you of my decision to tender my resignation as Greatest Mother In The World. We all know that lately I’ve simply become unable to keep up with the demands of the position, and I wish to fall back at this time to something more befitting my capabilities.

This morning I feel that perhaps Mom Who Does Just Enough might be a more suitable choice. Or—should you feel it a better selection—Serviceable Mom. I shall leave it to your discretion as to which would be most useful to the organization as a whole.

I do thank you for the chance to be something more, but now that I’ve realized exactly how thankless this position really is, I’m afraid I am simply going to have to suggest that you make your own damn lunch in the future.

So, effective immediately, here are the changes I propose:

1) If I spend my entire morning picking up after your lazy butt, when you later come home and start mouthing off and stomping around, I shall not be expected to either be kind or care about whatever your major malfunction is. I shall be entitled to suggest that you please continue your fit elsewhere I do not need to look at your ungrateful little pouty face.

2) If you’ve wrung me dry during the previous week, should you elect to sob over the almost-empty toothpaste tube, I will continue to provide squeezing assistance, but I will also be allowed to ask you when you all turned from teenage boys into a 2-year-old girl.

3) I will no longer make wake-up rounds in the morning, gently coaxing and cajoling you awake and out of bed, rechecking to make sure you’re up. Your alarms will be set and you can rise or not as you see fit. As you will be fixing your own lunch to save me the grief over placing inferior sustenance before you.

4) I will only launder the clothes I find inside of the hamper. Clothes near the hamper or squirreled away elsewhere in the house shall remain unwashed. Complaints about favored items being unavailable shall be met with a sad song played on my tiny violin.

5) Items left on the living room floor become my property to keep or dispose of as I see fit. Period. I am pretty sure I didn’t leave my entire sock collection in the living room and if you couldn’t be bothered to put it away, I can’t be bothered to ask you fifteen times to take your stuff. Sorry.

6) Dishes left in the kitchen at the end of a meal shall be used in their unwashed state to serve the next meal on. Mmmm mmmm good.

7) Crumbs, banana peels, and cereal which are not disposed of properly shall be transferred to your beds for safekeeping.

8) Any request for me to do anything shall result in my leaving the house for a scenic walk. On the down side, you’re going to be spending a lot of time alone, I think. But on the bright side, I should be 10 pounds lighter in no time!

9) I will no longer be buying a gallon of milk everyday just so I can find half empty glasses of it everywhere. Go buy a cow and milk her if you feel the need to suck down extra. MOOOOO!

10) I will no longer be participating in arguments about the weather. If you’re convinced don’t need a jacket, fine. You’re right; you DO know better than me. Enjoy your day wearing whatever you’ve deemed appropriate. I’ll no longer be paying attention to any subsequent colds or flu, so have at it!

Again, I’m sorry that it’s come to this, but I think the resignation of my post and subsequent reorganization will be for the best, all around. I do appreciate the opportunity and wish you all the best in your future endeavors.
Regards, Mama