07 February 2007
Dear Monkeys,

There are a few things you need to understand. Like Pooplette, you cannot run. You barely have walking down, so running, it's just not in the equation at the moment. Now, don't worry, you'll get there I'm sure. You surely learned to crawl before you walked, and now, well, let's just work on walking for a while, OK? You're a little young for carpet burns on your knees...and a little too young to understand why.

Muppet, go read that first paragraph. Your sister, she CANNOT run. Pushing her isn't going to make that skill come any faster. All it does it piss her off and then she SCREAMS. Do you remember those first three months after Pooplette came to live with us, those months when your Mama was a walking, ticking time bomb? That's what her screams do to me. We don't want to go back to that time.

You both manage to work together to test the limits of my sanity. As I am writing this (sitting at your papa's computer as you've both denied me undisturbed access to mine, and I can lock you both in your room, and sit here and type and pretend to be a parent), you've stripped the couch of all its cushions and are playing a toddler version of leap frog. I imagine one of you (any guess which) will start SCREAMING in a second (there's your clue), but for now it's just a lovely, peaceful, happy feeling to watch the two of you play...together...happily.

And your laughter is just the most gorgeous piece of music ever played. EVER.

I love watching you both discover new things, rediscover old things, and teach each other (and us) all about life. Although Muppet, those things you sometimes do to your sister make us wonder if you aren't waking up in the middle of the night and down loading porn. Some things you just shouldn't do, OK?

You are both really wonderful monkeys, but there are some things you both need to get the fuck over. Like if one of you wants to play with a toy, that doesn't mean the other of you has the right to rip it away. If you don't want to share, put your crap away. Yes, you too Pooplette, because you've already shown us you know how. No excuses. And no tears because you don't get your way. That's just cheating little girl. You need to learn how to play fair.

And Muppet you've got to get over this dinner table tirade with your pop. It's tearing me apart. You can be so good, and often are for me. Do the same for him. You'll both be happier people and Mama won't need all those drugs she can't have. And Pooplette, at the table, all that bread? It's for everyone. I know you could probably eat the entire baguette yourself, burp, and ask for more, but it doesn't work that way. We share the bread. And we don't throw it on the floor when we're mad. Hear that Muppet?

I need to go now as you've started practice for the World Wrestling Federation and I'm worried about my furniture. I love you both to pieces and never did I dream two little munchkins could be as awesome as the two of you.
 
posted by Doc at 16:02 | Permalink |


3 Comments:


  • At 08:00, Blogger Catherine

    Aah, the little-girl tears... they learn to use those things so damned early, don't they?!

     
  • At 10:49, Blogger Pam

    I think this may be the updated version of Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten...Should now be... Learned from Doc! Absolutely.

     
  • At 19:42, Blogger Pardon My French

    Funny post. I can't wait until they pick their wrestling names.