Dear So and So: The end of the holidays edition

Dear School,

It's been lovely but now I am ready for you to reopen. I am so ready for you to reopen.

Yours,
Worn out Pants.

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Dear Sam,

You want to crawl. You really, really, really want to crawl. I really, really don't want you to move. Moving is over-rated. I, myself, very much enjoy the (sadly rare) opportunity to sit on my backside and not move at all. Look and learn my boy, look and learn.

Your ever loving
Mother

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Dear Boys,

Here is a list of really annoying games that you have been playing all summer that have got to come to an end.
- screaming 'Muuuuummmmmeeeeeeee' loudly for no reason whatsoever except the ever so slight possibility that your brother might have got 2 molecules more toast and jam than you did.
- screaming 'Muuummmmeeeeeeee where's my ....'
- screaming
- not listening to a word I say
- waiting to be asked a million times before you deign to get yourself dressed.
- being unable to comprehend that you have to wipe your own bottom however many times I tell you that I am not doing it any more.
- pretending to be blind when told you have to wipe your own bottom.  (where did you get that priceless gem of an idea from?)
- winding your brother up
- screaming when your brother winds you up
- copying everything your brother says
- even worse copying everything your mother says

This list is not exhaustive and I reserve the right to add to it whenever I feel like it. When you have children of your own I'll bring it out and remind you of it.

Your exhausted, deaf mother

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Dear Self,

You really ought to apologise to your own mother for all those times you used to wind your own brother up and in particular for all those times you persuaded him to mimic everything your mother said and did. Your mother is a saint. Official. It's a miracle you both made it to adulthood without her throwing at least one of you out the window.

Repentant (slightly worried that past is coming back to haunt me)
Guilty Pants.

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Dear Jessie (aka the revolting hound)

Used breast pads are not food. I can't believe I have to point this out to you.

Euuwed out Pants

PS and if you could stop tipping the bins over looking for said used breast pads that would also be MUCH appreciated.

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Dear Sam,

I love that you love your Mummy. I really do. But I'd like to be able to put you down just occasionally.  Daddy is pretty fun too. Promise.

Lots of Love,
Mummy

PS - you need to work this Mummy obsession out pretty sharpish, you start at the child minders next week.

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Dear PhD Supervisor,

You have no idea how much I am looking forward to starting work again. I'll be able to sit down! Finish a whole cup of tea! Read a book and use full sentences and a regular volume. Work? Nah, this is going to be a holiday for me!

Yours with pencils sharpened and books aready,
Pants

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Dear School,

WHADDAYA MEAN THE FIRST 2 DAYS OF TERM ARE INSET DAYS?



(with thanks to Kat)