To the friendly, slightly creepy book-shelver at the library:
Yes, my children are a blessing. And yes, they may or may not be a gift from god. Sure, the little one might become prime minister some day (but would I want that, really?) but while you are talking to me, the older one has just disappeared around a corner so kindly get the fuck out of my road. And no, I do not want to come to your bible study. Still no.
To the caregiver of the 5 or 6 year old girl who keeps bringing me books to read aloud:
Please read some books to this child. I can’t keep reading to her because I have two children of my own and one of them is strapped to me and quite heavy and the other one has just disappeared around another corner, I think heading for the computers. I already have a toddler who speaks imperiously to me, I don’t need some strange kid saying, “READ THIS PAGE!” when I don’t even know her.
Yeah it takes a village and I’m sorry there’s no story time today but come on.
To my own darling son, the elder:
I couldn’t agree more, climbing the stairs to your bedroom is, in your own words, haaard woorrrrrrk. However I just pushed you, your buggy, your brother, your backpack and 10 library books up a very steep hill, chased you around the library and pushed you back down again. Now I am listening to your brother scream while you whine about climbing a flight of stairs so don’t talk to me about hard work. Suck it up and go have a nap.
To my darling son, the junior:
I’m sorry I smell bad and I’m sorry your face was wedged in my cleavage all morning. But if you would sleep or at least keep quiet in the buggy I wouldn’t have to strap you to my body. So you can stop making that disgusted face. I will shower when I’m good and ready. Let me know when you can hold your own head up and we’ll talk about alternate carrying arrangements.