NOTE: YOUNG PEOPLE SHOULD SKIP THE FIRST ITALICIZED PART OF THIS BLOG AND GO RIGHT DOWN TO THE BOLD ‘Hey’ PART, BECAUSE BEFORE THAT IT’S JUST PARENTS TALKING AND THAT IS JUST OH SO BORING…OMG
By law, every parent should have to sit down every fourteen years or so and write a letter to their children. Because let’s face it, Parents, we’re usually too busy earning money and doing laundry and making thirty-seven meals and snacks every day and vacuuming and worrying to sit down, look our children in the eye, and tell them how we really feel. Which is, of course, “WOULD YOU PLEASE PUT THAT GOD-DAMN DEVICE AWAY FOR JUST ONE FRIGGING SECOND SO I COULD TELL YOU HOW WONDERFUL YOU (select one) WERE (or) ARE (or) COULD BE (or) WILL ONE DAY BE, WE HOPE.”
But I’m not doing any of those things (especially not vacuuming and worrying), so I’ll write the letter on behalf of all of us, OK? It won’t be easy because our kids have the collective attention span of a lobotomized bread-box, but I think that by keeping it short and including many cute photos, our children may just catch part of it. I’ll also add neat little links to distract the little cretins.
Hey, youngest ones. You know who you are. We gotta be honest with you. When we first heard you were on the way, we moaned and cried a lot. Many of us (me, for certain ) remember thinking “Oh great; There goes the rest of my life.” It’s not that you weren’t
wanted, it’s just that you weren’t…well, uhmmmm…needed. (Kind’a like you with your fourth KitKat of the day.) You see, we already had plenty of headaches, noise, and sleepless nights. And it turned out the price of diapers had gone up again. (LOOK! A CUTE PIC….)⇒
LOOK! CUTE KITTENS! So it’s true that you don’t appear in any home family videos. And yes, your entire photo album is that one lonely picture of you graduating from grade school. Please forgive us, but we already knew what our babies and children looked like. We were kind of bored. We didn’t need any more pics of kids wearing Mom’s hat, or dancing poorly. You were also kind’a ugly, really. We hadn’t noticed with the earlier children because we were busy debating whether they had Mom’s sweet eyes or Dad’s noble nose or Grand-Dad’s thin lips, but we were done with that stuff by the time you came along. So we noticed that you looked a bit like a shriveled prune, and what the hell were those spots all over your head, anyway? Certainly nothing to photograph. Sorry.
And yes, you were cheated out of complete bedtime stories. You heard extremely shortened versions like this instead: BedTime Gory
And we were usually grumpy with you, because your siblings were driving us mad with their wailing about losing action figures or socks or siblings. So yes, we did subject you to rough lullabies. We were bitter, see? Bunny FrooFroo .
But you know what, Youngest Child? You showed us, you did. You taught us something, which wasn’t difficult for you
since you quickly figured out that we weren’t as smart as you once thought. (We think your siblings ratted us out.) Maybe it’s because you were largely ignored, but you certainly learned how to win centre stage. Maybe it’s because everyone drowned you out, so you had to learn to speak louder and
better. Maybe it’s because everyone else was so busy with their things that you became busier with more things. And maybe because everyone else was bigger, you had to cast a longer shadow. Maybe everyone picked on you, so you became the pickiest of all. Maybe because you were teased, you grew the thickest skin.
Whatever it was, Youngest Child, we were forced to notice you. Somehow, you came out of nowhere to certainly move into a tie – at least – as a favourite child. You brought home the best grades from school, you rule the room, you dance and dress the best, you have no fear, you expect the best, and you actually do homework (when I’d come to think that school didn’t assign that anymore.)
But most of all, Littlest One, we think that because of the love and affection that also dribbled down to you from so many, you built up the largest reservoir of tenderness and feeling. And you share and sprinkle that supply with sweet ferocity. You may just be the kindest and lovingest of them all. And that’s when we realize we may not have been too much wrong in our very first reaction to your arrival. We were just one letter off. It should have been: “…great. There goes the best of my life.”
Thank you, last-born. We wuz wrong.
NOW GO CLEAN YOUR DAMN ROOM! IT’S A MESS…A DISASTER….IT’S ALMOST AS BAD AS MINE!