We Love You, Miss Hannigan!

To Whom It May Concern:

My kids lead a hard-knock life. And I'm writing this to report myself. As I thought I saw an uncanny resemblance between myself and Miss Hannigan. I'm a bit concerned regarding my ability to properly care for my children. Here is an example of a typical day in our house:

I stagger out of bed and say no to the little girl with the button nose & the doe eyes who asks for "chocwate" at 8:15 a.m.
As well as, say no to the little boy, who is still a bit pigeon-toed and rambunctious, when he asks for 5 Oreo cookies at 9:01 a.m.

I trip over toys, I bumble around all of the various kid debris and yell, loudly, that "this place better shine like the top of the Chrysler building!!" I do not, however, refer to my baby girl and/or my baby boy as "my little pig droppings". Oh, and I don't know or am related to anyone named 'Rooster'. So, I've got that going for me.

Instead of the "chocwate" that my daughter craves for breakfast, I substitute it with mush(oatmeal).

I do not walk around all day half-naked in shoddy lingerie. Instead I walk around in PJ's and I am mostly, unshowered. Until about 11 a.m. Some days.

I wish that I was walking around with a big bottle of gin in my hand. Instead, my 'drug' of choice is the caffeine that is in my coffee. I would be happy to substitute the bottle of gin with the cup of coffee. However, I'm usually too busy to enjoy more than two sips of coffee. So, most of the time, the bottle that should be in my hand is replaced by cuppies of milk or juice.

Rather than yell at the kids for singing or for being happy, I yell at them that they're not singing loud enough. Because, well, I can hear myself singing. And I yell at them about not being happy when they're whining, crying, kicking, screaming, punching themselves, hitting each other, hitting the dog, pushing me, throwing things, slamming doors, scowling, or pouting.

I have not resorted to locking them in the closet. Yet. I do, however, lock them in a huge embrace when I get the chance.

I do not lay around listening to old radio programs, drinking the aforesaid booze. But I do blog incessantly, browse Amazon.com, read other blogs, talk on the phone, put Gracie's clothes on, prepare meals, fetch snacks, do laundry, put Gracie's clothes on again, wipe dirty butts, wipe dripping noses, clean up dog shit, clean boy pee dribbles off of the toilet seat, put her damned clothes on AGAIN, scrub the tub, scrub marker off of my walls, kiss boo-boos, read stories, put her clothes back ON!!, build with blocks, dress the kids (but barely dress myself), talk to myself, walk in circles, forget why I went upstairs, put Gracie's clothes back on - AGAIN!!!, refill cuppies, wipe the muddy dog prints off of my kitchen floor, pick up....(what is that?) off of the livingroom floor before the kids try to eat it, take...(what is that???) whatever that was out of Gracie's hand as she was trying to put it in her mouth.

They do have all of the toys they could want. But none of the ones they "need". And it is true that "Santa Clause they never see". Because we make the kids go to bed before he gets to our house (wink, wink).

Well, I think that's about it. If you notice too many similarities between myself & that wretched woman. Please, by all means - for the safety and well-being of my children, be sure to report me to the proper authorities. Because I do believe that I am Stretched to the Limit.

Thank You
Mrs. Tabba Incredible