Dear Intrepid;

Showering: It's an essential part of life.

I understand that you're thirteen and you would rather stay up late, watch highly inappropriate cartoons, eat anything you can get your hands on, go to bed, and wake up 20 minutes before school without ever seeing the inside of a bathtub. However, you need make room in your busy schedule to bathe. I shouldn't have to remind you to do this.

You may argue that I was once a teenager and therefore should empathize with what you're going through, but you would be missing one important fact: I was a girl teenager. Most girl teenagers live in the shower. We take great care to do our hair, apply makeup, switch outfits 18 times, and possibly throw a top into our school bag that shows more cleavage than mom or dad would approve of so that we can put it once we get to school. We like to smell good, look good, feel good. It's a whole different universe.

Furthermore, girl teenagers like boy teenagers who smell good, too. Since we're lacking in the stench department, our olfactory system is wide open for stinkiness from outside sources. This will become far more important to you in the coming years. Just sayin'.

Other than that, you're pretty awesome. You're a ray of sunshine, a huge help, and you even remember to take out the garbage sometimes. But please make sure you do your ethics project tonight. I do not want yet another last minute stress-fest tomorrow morning because it's due and you haven't printed it out yet, and the printer isn't working, and your bus comes in four minutes, and...

Love,
Mom



Dear Gutsy,

People like to tell me what a great kid you are. I couldn't agree more. You're funny, creative, bright, sweet, and have all sorts of other wonderful traits, too. I'm pleased as punch to call you my son. A world without Gutsy would be a much less colourful place.

However, I draw the line at statements from people at your school who like to tell me how you're quiet, polite, and a very good listener. You have many amazing qualities, my dear middle child. But those are not among the list of things I say about you (Yes, I keep a list. It's in my head, and I use it show off to other moms when I'm in a bragging sort of mood. We all do it, trust me. It's a mom thing.)

Clearly, they have never witnessed a morning at Casa Maven. I should probably invite them over to be proverbial flies on the wall. They can watch as you take a very long time to get out of bed; insist on a specific type of breakfast even if there's not enough time to make it because you took too long to wake up; refuse to pick out your own clothes yet complain about the ones we bring you, need help getting into absolutely every article of outdoor clothing and whine the entire time; and only actually make it to the end of the driveway before the bus drives by about 75% of the time, usually after stomping around and yelling about how things aren't going your way.

You do all this before I manage to get any coffee into my system. That is so uncool.

Clearly, you have them all fooled. I think you bottle up all the complaining, non-compliance, ear-piercing screaming, stubborn arm-crossing, fridge-door-kicking, and remote-control-throwing, and save it for when you're at home.

While I appreciate the thoughtfulness of this gesture - trying to make school a good place for everyone around you- we may need to discuss a more balanced approach. I could most certainly deal with some behavioural notes coming home in your school bag every now and then if it meant you wouldn't throw your pants at me because you don't like the zipper. I could handle the odd call from your teacher about a discipline issue if you wouldn't try to break our appliances when I say you can't have a snack five minutes before dinner.

Balance. Let's work on that, ok? It could give my heart an extra ten years of ticking time. Think of all the extra birthday and Christmas presents that could buy you! See? I'm not a selfish bitch of a mom. There's something in it for you, too.

Love you lots and lots despite butting heads yet again this morning,
Mom



Dear Spawnling,

Sorry about your hair. Maybe we could try visiting an actual salon without having you jump out of my arms and run screaming at the mere site of a barber chair? Then I wouldn't have to do a hack job at home like I did this morning. Your hairdo makes me think of what would happen if Shaggy got freaky with a paper shredder.

Dammit, Spawnling! I'm a writer, not a hair stylist!

I guess you wouldn't get the Star Trek reference, being three and all...

Hoping you have nice hair and start using the potty soon, please-oh-please my little darling.

Lovingly,
Mom