Dear Child...

Dear Spencer,

You are six years old.  Please act like it.  Actually, maybe you are, I don't know.  Having never raised a six year old I have no idea.  Whatever.  Stop with the whining and crying.  Now.  I just simply cannot handle another crying, sniveling, whining meltdown from you. 

Sometimes brothers hit you and get away with it. 

Babies need extra attention.  That's just a fact of life.

When you blatantly break the rules you lose priveleges.  You know that.

Life is hard. Grow a pair and toughen up.

Love,

Mommy

p.s.  I washed your blankie today.  Be sure to get it out of the dryer right before bed so it's nice and mosty-toasty.

**************

Dear Josh,

WHY DOES EVERYTHING HAVE TO BE A POWER STRUGGLE WITH YOU?!?!?!

Why why why, for the love of all that is good and holy, WHY?!

It doesn't matter what color cup you have.  These socks are exactly the same as the others.  You had a bath this morning, you don't need one tonight.  STOP pushing the baby over.  Because I said so.

Oh, and you and I both know that you could poop in the potty every time if you wanted to.  You never poop in public.  You always find a place to hide in the house and do your business.  And if you're in a rare good mood you go all by yourself.

You know exactly what you're doing, and I'm on to your game, little man.

So guess what?  From now on I'm not gonna waste anymore of my time begging and pleading for you to poop in the potty.  If you want to mess your pants, that's your business.  Just don't expect me to rush to the rescue to help change and clean up.  Oh, you'll get help eventually, just on my schedule, not yours.  And let me tell you, my friend: changing a three year old's poopy pants?  Far back and low on the schedule. 

This is gonna get smelly.  But it must be done.

Love,

Momma

p.s. You were soooo good at the grocery store today.  Thank you.  Oh, and good call running away from that creepy old guy who kept smiling at you.  With your sense of risk you need those kind of instincts.

**************

Dear Cole,

Really?  The burb cloth was on your lap and you just leaned forward and spit up all over the couch instead.  For the love.

And what up with you thinking you can't roll from your belly to your back?  You could do it last week?  What's changed?  And if you truly can't do it, why do you insist on rolling from your back to your belly?  It really makes no sense.

And could you please stop whiping your constantly running nose on my shoulder and/or hair?  It's slimy.  And smelly.  And you already gave me your cold, so I don't know what else is left to share at this point.  Plus?  It's grossing me out, dude.

Love,

The Lady Who Brings the Food

p.s.  Rockin' job with the shots today, big guy!  I can't believe you didn't cry for either one!  You're my little slimy-nosed Superman, you are!