So there’s a funny meme going around the Internet now that was started by Kristin. When you’re commanded by the Empress in a tweet no less, you cannot refuse. She’s like the Godmother of the Internet except she is just as sweet in person as she is online.
Questions I Want To Ask My Children:
- Why is remembering to use your inside voice so hard? I cannot hear myself over all the shouting and screaming. At this rate, I’ll need hearing aids before the teen years.
- What is so funny about the words “poop”, “pee” and “fart”? I mean, I know many comics have made millions on fart jokes, but my girls are wasting their comedic talents.
- Barbie and the Popstar? Your dad and I are musicians and singers. We have carefully cultivated an eclectic mix of music in rotation from the Beatles to the Beastie Boys, and yet you crave Carly Rae Jensen and anything Barbie sings.
- I am trying to raise some feminist girls here. Why do you insist on wearing pink and purple all.the.time? Look at my closet – see the rainbow of colors in there. I promise you that red, green, blue and black are great choices.
- Do you have a contract somewhere that stipulates that we need glitter on everything – clothing, stickers, cards, etc.? Will I be cleaning glitter off my face until I am 80?
- Why do you not listen to what your dad and I tell you? If you hear the same thing from any one of your six grandparents, you immediately comply with that request. What are your dad and I – chopped liver?
- Does the floor and carpet beg for you to sprinkle crumbs all over? I would love to spend more time just hanging out instead of having to clean up.
- Why do I have to make statements like “don’t sit on your sister’s head” and “only one person can pee in the potty at a time”? No really, I need to know.
- Do you have a sixth sense that your dad and I are about to just hang out and enjoy each other’s company when you decide to scream for water, a lovey or someone to come “snuggle with me”? If so, can we employ this technique when you two are teenagers?
- I know that every declaration of “You’re the best mommy ever” is meant to wrap me around your little fingers. Trust me when I tell you I am a goner. I’ll cherish those declarations of love when you are teenagers and telling me that you hate me.