dear heart, fruit of my loins

I know you think you are a man and as such my rules dont apply to you. This morning’s events should show you how much you have to learn.

When I said you do not EVER touch my brand spanking new espresso machine EVER EVER, that is exactly what I meant.

 

I know you guys love the idea of having hot frothy milk with your hot cocoa, and I love to make it for you, MYSELF, as I know how to use the machine in the right way.

 

Your excuse that you didn’t wish to wake me doesn’t wash as you know I was already up. Your brother even told you what you were doing was wrong, but he’s only 9 so what does he know? Apparently a lot more that a boy on the cusp of teenagerhood.

 

See, in no espresso machine that I have seen does the milk go through the percolator. Every single time the milk is poured into the jug or cup and then frothed or steamed. You would know that if you ever bothered to be aware of your surroundings, instead of being constantly plugged in to your mp3 at ear splitting volume,

 

When you came to me in a panic, you made a good decision. Own up to what you did, and get it fixed. See the thing is it’s going to take me a good long time to get the burned milk out of the pipes in the espresso machine, a lot of time running boiling water through it, which also means I don’t get my coffee until I have fixed the machine.

 

Me, not getting my coffee – who suffers? Yes, surely I do, but I guess in a bigger way you suffer too. WHY? Am I a little crabby without my coffee in the mornings? Add to that the fiasco with my brand spanking new espresso machine and I am not a nice person to be around right now.

 

Dear heart, I love you but right now I want to boil your head, in my espresso machine, with coffee grounds shoved down your throat. That would do for starters. But because I am a good mother, I will just ignore you until I am caffeinated and then decide on a suitable consequence that sadly for me, will not include bodily harm.

 

Dear son, first-fruit of my loins, maybe one day you will realize that your old mother has a reason for saying what she does, and maybe you will realize that she is wise as well as beautiful. Oh and by the way telling me I look so pretty when you have just buggered up my espresso machine is a cheap shot and totally pissed me off. How the heck can I look pretty with yesterday’s mascara smudged over my under eyes, my hair a birds nest, my glasses half way down my nose, and a thunder cloud hovering over my head???? Flattery will not get you anywhere with me. No today anyway.

 

Now get thee to your room and start organizing and tidying and cleaning and no mp3 for you right now, and even worse, NO MORE BATTERIES for anything.

 

Signed

 

Your loving mother who remembers every minute of her long labour with you, every second of the two hours she spent pushing your big oversized head through her body, every freaking stitch they sewed me up with, every second of discomfort after birthing you. And yes it is my job to make you feel guilty over that, especially at times like this. This episode adds a couple of hours to the story of your birth, I think at this point I was in labour with you for 7 years………

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7 Comments

  1. deylansmama says:

    Oh why do they do things like this? *sigh* Mine is going to be 4 in a few days and he has already “tried to help” and broken a few things. I know he’s still young…but I can only imagine what he’ll break when he’s older!

  2. hadassahsabo says:

    wait for the next installment, some time in the next week…the next in line has a dear heart letter all of his own too….stay tuned!

  3. David says:

    Two hours? P’shah. Ben took 28…

  4. hadassahsabo says:

    the pushing, dear david, took two hours. the labour was at least 38…. one must make the distinction..

  5. Mark says:

    Well … now the espresso is forever milchigs.

  6. Ari says:

    Unfortunately, son #1 will not be doing the laundry anytime soon, I guess.

  7. hadassahsabo says:

    ari = this was written 2 years ago. he has matured somewhat since then. (one hopes)

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