My Dearest Son,
I love you. Really I do. I think the way you make a tower of blocks and then kick it over with a squeal of delight is just enchanting. The way you giggle as you try to lick my feet is the best free entertainment around. When you share your Popsicle with the dog, my queasiness is overwhelmed by my pride in your generous nature. You give me hugs and kisses whenever I want them and you rarely shit in the bathtub. All around, youâ€™re just peachy. However, there is something I feel I must tell you in hopes of maintaining my sanity.
WE ARE NOT FUCKING FARMERS! WAKING UP EACH MORNING AT 5 AM WILL NO LONGER BE ACCEPTABLE!
Now pay attention dearheart, because this is important. We have no cows that need milking. There are no chickens to feed, or pigsties to muck, or fields to plow. I will not be waltzing out to the kitchen to start a nice big batch of fresh buttermilk biscuits to welcome the dawn. Please keep this in mind for the future, or I may be forced to take desperate measures involving duct tape and half-trained monkeys.
Your Loving but Exhausted Mother.