I love you. You know I do. But if you want a mother who is sane (and you do. You may not realize it now, but a mother who’s drooling and telling stories of your blow-outs and temper tantrums to potential spouses will make you wish you’d been nicer to me.) you have to slow down. Climbing onto the kitchen table and eating sugar from the sugar bowl, pulling pins from my sewing project, and eating toothpaste as fast as you can squirt it in your mouth is not going to lead anywhere good. Today’s box of Honey Bunches of Oats spread across most of the house was not cool. The dirt belongs in the plant, not on the floor or in your mouth. And for Pete’s sake, leave your sister alone when she’s losing her lunch for the 36th time this week.
I’ll be embarrassing, I assure you. I can only handle so much, and you’re very nearly crossing that line.
You’re playing with fire, dear boy.
Love,
Momma
Duct tape, a rubber room, or a pack n play. The only options I can think of. You can decide who they’re for… You. Or him.
Great options. Either of us would work – but the house might fare better if he were the one contained.