To my Dearest, Darling Children,
You stink. I don't mean, a little bit that's cute and sweaty like in the summertime...I mean...you stank.
You reek of smells not humanly possible, making me wonder everyday how one could be so fortunate as to pick you up from sports and practice in this southern heat.
People often warned me of the time you'd get older and emit scents of such fragrant bouquets. Naively, I didn't believe it couldn't happen to you. Kissing the tops of your heads, smelling the deliciousness through your hair after bath time wouldn't allow such thoughts.
Oh, but how very, very wrong I was.
Now, when you pile in the car, it takes a minute to catch my breath and speak. Birds fly away as we travel and small animals fall dead, stopped in their tracks.
I'm quite convinced at this point in the season, our car glows a pretty shade of nuclear green, making all the neighbors jealous.
So, my darling children, now that you're older, I think it's time. I've pondered long and hard on this, and since the changes in your body and the paint peeling from our walls indicates you're ready, it's my job - nay - my responsibility as a human being to let you in on one of life's greatest secrets.
In our house, there's a place you've never seen. It's a magical place with a portal, taking bad things in and mystically changing them into good. Even the worst of your attire that seems to have crawled out from under the toilet seat of a truck stop, has no power against this place...and I can't wait to show it to you.
The simplicity of this room will amaze you and believe it or not, you're welcome to it every. single. time. you come home from games or practice. All you have to do is carefully approach, open the door to the other side, put your filthy, wretched items in, then simply pour a liquid of wonder in. It's a beautiful shade of blue I've once heard comes from the happy tears of unicorns.
So, my dearest darlings, it's a new day. I feel my job here is complete and the universe might once again rejoice in the decreased levels of toxicity changing the makeup of the first three layers of the atmosphere.
I love you. Take a shower. XO, Mom
You stink. I don't mean, a little bit that's cute and sweaty like in the summertime...I mean...you stank.
You reek of smells not humanly possible, making me wonder everyday how one could be so fortunate as to pick you up from sports and practice in this southern heat.
People often warned me of the time you'd get older and emit scents of such fragrant bouquets. Naively, I didn't believe it couldn't happen to you. Kissing the tops of your heads, smelling the deliciousness through your hair after bath time wouldn't allow such thoughts.
Oh, but how very, very wrong I was.
Now, when you pile in the car, it takes a minute to catch my breath and speak. Birds fly away as we travel and small animals fall dead, stopped in their tracks.
I'm quite convinced at this point in the season, our car glows a pretty shade of nuclear green, making all the neighbors jealous.
So, my darling children, now that you're older, I think it's time. I've pondered long and hard on this, and since the changes in your body and the paint peeling from our walls indicates you're ready, it's my job - nay - my responsibility as a human being to let you in on one of life's greatest secrets.
In our house, there's a place you've never seen. It's a magical place with a portal, taking bad things in and mystically changing them into good. Even the worst of your attire that seems to have crawled out from under the toilet seat of a truck stop, has no power against this place...and I can't wait to show it to you.
The simplicity of this room will amaze you and believe it or not, you're welcome to it every. single. time. you come home from games or practice. All you have to do is carefully approach, open the door to the other side, put your filthy, wretched items in, then simply pour a liquid of wonder in. It's a beautiful shade of blue I've once heard comes from the happy tears of unicorns.
So, my dearest darlings, it's a new day. I feel my job here is complete and the universe might once again rejoice in the decreased levels of toxicity changing the makeup of the first three layers of the atmosphere.
I love you. Take a shower. XO, Mom
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