Letters


My dearest son.

My adorable little man.

Do you have a death wish? Or are you secretly plotting to have me keel over before my time due to sleep deprivation and sheer frustration?

I understand that you don’t need to sleep. I understand that your brain is wired in some fantabulous way that means that you can function with a bees dick worth of sleep and wake bouncing off the walls.

Yeah I get that.

But Mummy can’t. Sorry about that.

So when you sleep for a couple of hours a night for 3 weeks straight Mummy gets a little cranky. Mummy doesn’t want to play Hyperdash, or endless Boo-draws-a-random-shape-in-the-air-and-Mummy-has-to-guess-what-it-is-or-Boo-has-a -freaking-meltdown games. Or listen to Spongebob Squarepants, The Sweet Escape, Bohemian Rhapsody, Shrek 12 Days of Christmas and a hundred freaking episodes of Homestar Runner on loop. All. At. The. Same. Time.

All day and night.

Sometimes Mummy likes to rest. Sometimes Mummy sits on the couch with her eyes shut. But Mummy never likes to be greeted with a poke in the eye or a yell in the ear of ‘Wake up I hungry’.

A gentle shake on the shoulder or a kiss would be preferable.

When Mummy is sleeping it is not a good idea to:

  • Smear your poo or toothpaste on the walls, floors, toys, lounge suite or bunny.
  • Empty the contents of the pantry on the kitchen benches to make a shop.
  • Write on the walls. With mustard.
  • Call random numbers you hear on the radio or the TV. Especially the ones that talk about getting a better erection or those chicks that want to talk to you noooow.
  • Wake Mummy by the aforementioned means or with a Teletubbie inches from her face while chanting ‘Kill Kill Kill’

Or any of the crazy arsed unusual things that you find amusing and entertaining.

If it usually results in Mummy exclaiming ‘Oh Boo!’ it is probably not a good idea.

Especially when Mummy is dragging her arse around tired. And I tell you when I am tired.

OK, here is the deal. You sleep. Mummy gets sleep. The End.

Or I will be forced to do something you hate. Despise. That makes you run out of the vicinity screaming with the horror of it all.

I will sing.

Oh yeah buddy, I will sing loud. With smiling. And over emphasised actions. That I make up myself. That are vastly different to the Boo ordained actions that are acceptable in this household.

Or I will inform the military of your secret super nada sleeping powers. I am sure that they will be very interested……

Your choice buddy.

Love you,

Mummy

xx

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I have offered Moo cold hard CASH to watch Boo for me tonight.  I am going to bed.  At 9pm.

SQUEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

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Dear Mr Toy Manufacturer,

Or can I just call you Capitalist Bastard CB for short? Ta. I assume that you are male, as no woman who does 99% of the present wrapping of the world would be so fucking stupid as to allow toys to be shaped as they are.

Balls I can cope with. I have even managed to wrap a bike. My wrapping skillz are world renown. But how the fuck am I supposed to wrap this thing neatly?

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I mean REALLY CB, what were you smoking when you approved the shape of this thing? And what about this:

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And this:

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And while I am at it, why on Gods green earth do you wrap the toys in impenetrable plastic and then not include the freaking batteries? I have to either demolish the packaging and make the kids think that Santa got the gift from the reject bin of Kmart to get the fucking batteries in or on 2 hours sleep and with a hangover that would kill a goat (from the iced eggnog…. mmmm eggnog) wrestle with the packaging whilst my kid jumps from foot to foot begging me to hurry the fuck up. By the time I have finished they have lost interest and eating the contents of their stocking while I am distracted and will not eat the turkey that took me 6 fucking hours to cook I lovingly baked.

I am thanking sweet Jesus that my girls are no longer into Barbies and the like, cause those fuckers are held down with shit loads of plastic ties, pieces of string and other paraphernalia meant to make parents rue the day they said ‘Yeah, lets forget the condom tonight’ or ‘I think I took my pill, oh what the heck’ or ‘roll over’ or whathaveyou.

Now CB, you know we will never let your profits fall cause your wonderful subliminal advertising has us wrestling each other in the toy store aisles for the last whatever-the-fuck-is-the-ultimate-toy-that-year or ringing around the world, or even whinging on our blogs trying to find our child the perfect gift that will be gathering dust by mid January, but I am pleading with you to please please make the bastards easier to wrap? Those of us with OCD tendencies want the tree to look all Martha Stewart before our tiny terrorists little angels demolish it before our sleep deprived eyes. And things that have taken hours to wrap end up looking like the dog has mauled them and make our little perfect housewife eyes twitch and have us reaching for the wine to dull the pain.

I honestly think for the amount of cash we bring your way you could keep us in mind before you approve the need-scissors-machete-every-freaking-screwdriver-and-blowtorch-to-open packaging for your wonderful must have toys.

Oh, and don’t outsource to China. Lead is not part of my kids diet.

Could you pass on a message to the asshats that make ‘clear’ tape? Tell ’em that the stuff is not freaking clear at all and if they need a lesson on what is ‘clear’ means just give me a call and after I have finished ripping them a new arsehole I will read them the dictionary definition.

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Choke on a turkey bone and DIE yours sincerely,

Rocking in the corner with a bottle of wine Mummy.

Some would say why bother writing a letter to Boo, he isn’t going to read it and if he does he won’t understand. I say, I was told this boy wouldn’t do any of the things he has achieved, who knows what the future holds. And if he is 40 when he reads this letter, then I am cool with that. And if he never reaches the point where he can truly understand it, cool again. As my Moo says….. its all good.

My Boo,

My booful boy. My precious little man.

My forever baby.

Oh, how we wanted you. For years Daddy and I tried for you with many losses along the way. But, although hard, they were necessary for us to have such a wonderful little man at the right time. When you were born we were ready. Your sisters were ready. We were all ready for the lessons you would soon teach us. Patience, strength, persistence, courage and pure love.

I remember when you were born. Such a calm birth compared to your sisters. The doctor handed you to me and I held you. Something I didn’t get to do with the girls, I was too sick. In recovery I fed you straight away. You stared deep into my eyes and I wept. The connection was there from the first few minutes.

I remember our first morning together. Daddy had to go to work and I was still in the hospital. We were so lucky to be in a hospital where the Daddies got to stay. We had our own room and a queen sized bed. The three of us together. I had the radio on to listen to Daddy and so you could hear his voice.

‘Don’t want to miss a thing’ by Aerosmith came on. I know it is a love song, but the words fit perfectly to how I felt about you. I could not stop staring into your perfect little face. To this day that song makes me cry. Happy tears.

Then you turned blue. Three times you had to stop breathing before the nurses would take me seriously. Then all hell broke loose. We lost our cocoon and you were transferred to the special needs nursery. How ironic.

For 18 months you had a breathing monitor attached to your body. Affectionately coined the ‘ticker’ it made a ‘mysterious ticking noise’ whenever you took a breath. If it was dislodged or you stopped breathing a deafening alarm would go off. It didn’t need to. I was so attuned to the ticking I knew before it went off.

Just after we graduated from the ticker you were diagnosed with Autism. My little genius boy, who was reading and writing already just choosing not to speak was…….. different.

We developed our own little language in sign.

I love you.

Want more.

Cuddle

And my favourite. You are my sunshine.

We would sing it together all the time. In the car, on walks, in the park, at the supermarket. In voice and in sign. Your eyes would light up when I would sing and you would grab my hands to make me sign it too.

You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are grey

You will never know, dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take my sunshine away….

Boo, you are my sunshine. I might complain about sleeplessness and destruction, but as I sit here, in the pre-dawn of your 9th birthday, with you laying next to me – Daddy relegated to your bed as is quite often the case – I gaze at you and realise how lucky I am.

Nothing comes easy in your life. You are constantly bombarded by sounds, images, smells that distract or distress you. Yet you have come so far. Much further than anyone ever hoped for. You are a true miracle. A lesson in determination. And in pure innocent joy.

Whenever I need to remember, I just have to watch you eat an apple, play on the computer, hear a new song or give you a tickle or cuddle. Pure Innocent Joy.

My forever baby, we are one.

Love Mummy.

xxxx

P.S. I hope you like your presents. They are not what your asked for but firstly, you are not old enough to drive a taxi. Secondly, Streets icecream won’t let me have one of their freezers unless we own a store. And lastly, I have tried to get you are real movie clapperboard but Mr. Speilberg won’t return my calls. But I am on it. This is the one, right?

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I can’t bear it. Just the thought of you being 16 makes me all weepy.

I look at you and I see a woman. We laugh, we joke, we share. Just like girlfriends. But then you look sad and my heart breaks. You attempt to curl up in my lap and I am transported back to when you were a little girl. Not someone 2 inches taller than me.

Last night, as usual, I wrapped my arms around you from behind. I put my face on your cool back and I could feel your heart beating. I hugged you tighter. Growing up is hard. But I didn’t realise how hard it would be for me. If I hug you from behind I can still pretend you are my little girl. The other way around I am suffocated by the physical evidence of you growing up.

I love our chats. Just sitting in the lounge, while I’m cooking dinner, driving in the car. I love that you tell me all the little things that have happened or what’s going on at school (see the apostrophe in ‘what’s’? You little grammar nazi? 🙂 ) and that you don’t feel like you need to ‘edit’ it for a parental. Just easy conversation. Something I wished I had with my mother. But sometimes I find it hard to fight the mummy instinct. Sometimes the primal lioness protecting her cubs rises up in me and I want to fight the world to protect you from any hurt. But I can’t. Your ‘boo-boo’s’ now cannot be fixed with a kiss and a bandaid.

But I am always here for you. I am always on your side. I breathe for you.

My first born. I was still so very much a little girl when I had you. 19 years old and thought I knew everything. Then you came along. We have grown up together.

I know sometimes you resent the fact that you need to ‘break me in’. You being my first child, you are the one that needs to test the waters and teach me to let go. I am too protective. I recognise that. But I think that also comes from the fact that my teenage years are still so clear, I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I made. But you are a different person to me, more wise, more intelligent, more switched on. When you were born the nurses said ‘This one has been here before’, I thought them delusional.

Now I am not so sure.

You are so loving and caring to your siblings. No matter how much they drive you to distraction you forgive them anything. Boo has turned your life upside down, but you still turn to me and say ‘God, I love that kid’. That makes my heart swell with pride. Not because you love your brother, but because you see past the negative and honestly know that he means no harm. You see the good in him. You are not embarrassed when he screams the place down in a crowded store, you are more concerned about his welfare. I cannot say that I would have been the same at your age. You are much more mature than me.

Moo, your smile ignites my heart. Your happiness is my happiness. Your sorrow is mine, two fold. I tell you every day how much I love you, they are not just words.

You are an amazing wonderful person and I am so proud to say that I am your Mum.

Happy Birthday my beautiful girl.

Love,

Mummy

xx

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side note:  To see the letter to Too for her birthday look under ‘letters’. 

There will be a letter to Boo tomorrow. 

I have mentioned before about my neighbours. Here is a little highlight of the ones that acknowledge me. The others never seem to be home….. or they are hiding.

Next door right: Wave hello as driving away. He likes to rev up hotted up cars at all hours of the day or night. They got married recently and the wedding car was a ute. Noice.

Oh and I accidentally called the wife a ‘biatch’ really really loudly. See this post for the full details.

Across the road: Set up lawn chairs in their driveway whenever we have a kids party or sleepover. Lawn chairs and a table when we moved in. Always seem to need to check their letterbox, weed the garden, pick up a twig/leaf from the lawn when we are greeting or saying goodbye to visitors. Yes we have a lot of visitors. But they stay waaaaaay too long for this to be a crack house.

Next door left: Weeded his garden for 2 straight days while we were moving in. Haven’t seen him since. Heart attack while watching cable? The mail isn’t piling up so probably just scared of us. I would be.

Dear neighbours,

I feel that we haven’t had the chance to get to know each other. If this was suburban America a la every-freaking-sitcom-drama-we-see someone would have baked some muffins for us by now. We have been here for a year, you don’t have to grow the wheat and stone grind it yourself, a packet mix will suffice.

We are a noisy family. Not as noisy as SOME, but we produce our fair share. Most of the noise is screaming from our son. You know him. The kid that did all those nudie runs before we plugged the hole in the fence? Oh and the kid that laid spread eagled in your driveway, Mr Revhead, wearing nothing but a tshirt and a vacant smile. Spongebob Squarepants was the song of choice that day, in case you were wondering. Well he has Autism and that is just part and parcel of who he is. He is almost 9 so his voice should break in a couple of years so the squeal won’t be so high pitched and frighten the dogs. Something to look forward to huh?

We have some weird and wonderful equipment in our backyard. There is no need to fret about our property backing on to a childcare centre, the equipment is actually doctor approved therapy equipment for the Sponge bob singing, dirt angel in the driveway making, nudist you met earlier. Not anything to do with S&M. Honest. Oh and sorry to the kid that was playing on the platform swing when we weren’t home and left their polly pocket on the ground. It kinda slipped out of my hand and I accidentally smashed it to pieces and then it fell in the garbage bin. I am amazed how you managed to scale the kid proof fence or actually OPEN THE CHILD LOCK. Pure child genius. Tell mummy and daddy to get you tested for Mensa.

We do have quite a few visitors. Actually you are lucky we didn’t live here when our youngest was still in intensive one on one therapy! Wow, we had a shit load of visitors then! I just want to ease your worry and let you know that we don’t sell crack or wacky tobakky or GOD FORBID, Amway……

Mr Stand-in-your-driveway-smoking-all-the-day-and-night,

My daughter is a pretty girl. So are her friends. YOU are a man in his forties living with his parents. Stop. Oh and while we are on the subject, I don’t need an audience – yes I can see you behind the bushes – while I am weeding the garden. It is getting quite feral out there, so here is your warning, I will be out there again soon. You need to be somewhere else, capisce?

We are good people. A mum, dad, 2 teenage girls and a highly individual boy.

You would like us if you gave us half a chance. Lots of people do, hence the many cars coming in and out of our driveway. How about we have a BBQ some time. No pressure. Just a simple Hello Kelley when I pass you next will be affirmation enough for me.

Kindest regards,

Kelley at number X

On second thoughts I might just start with a Christmas Card in Decemeber.

Whatcha think?

My baby girl.

This time 14 years ago I was being prepped by the anesthetist ready to bring you into the world. No makeup, no nailpolish but at least my paper hat matched my gown. Daddy was nervously strutting around waiting to take his position next to me behind the curtain for when, like a magician, the doctor would pull a baby out of his wife.

Throughout my pregnancy I quietly wished that you would be a girl. When people would ask me if I was hoping for a boy, I would wrap my arms around my belly so you couldn’t hear and mouth to them ‘I want another girl’. When the doctor popped you over the curtain, I cried. My baby girl.

I wouldn’t see you till the next day. I was sick, so Daddy had to take care of you. He took so good care of you the Nazi nurse wrote on my file ‘Father overhandling baby. Father not to handle baby’ the other nurses ignored her and saw it for what it was. A proud Daddy.

When we formally met I couldn’t believe the size of your enormous blue eyes. You were mesmerizing. Strangers would stop me in the street to just stare at you. Moo was not impressed. She was, and always will be, the show pony of the family. You would just sit and quietly survey the scenery. Your huge blue eyes and natural Shirely Temple blonde ringlets (Google the name and you will see what I mean)

You slept through the night from 6 weeks old. You were the dream baby that people speak of. Happy and content. Your biggest source of amusement was watching your sister splash in the bath. Oh how I wish I got that almost dirty cackle on video.

But I have the video of when we were madly moving into our newly bought house and you had chicken pox. Dosed up on drugs after a marathon 11 hour drive back from Grandma’s funeral. We were frantically chucking boxes anywhere when I saw you sitting on the pack porch singing Row Row Row your Boat. Daddy grabbed the camera and even though it was 4,ooo degrees in the shade I stopped and smothered you in cuddles. That is my best memory of that frantic, stressful time.

I remember when Carl came over one day when you were on the swings. He hadn’t met you before and commented on how beautiful you were and then you opened your mouth to call ‘Daddy get over here and swing me’ in your surprisingly deep voice, LOL. He nearly fell over and I nearly wet my pants laughing.

You went through an uber tomboy stage. Took the whole thing a little far with your 2 inch long hair and ultra baggy clothes. People told me to dress you properly but I knew it was a stage that you needed to go through and the photos will be great for your 21st…… Sk8r grl.

Now you are 14. In that twilight zone between little girl and woman. As I drove you to the train station this morning clutching your present from Moo and Boo that perfectly reflects the stage you are at now, a soft cuddly toy that you plug your Ipod into, I told you how much I love you. You are my ‘easy’ child and in that respect you tend to get forgotten with all the drama that your siblings and father create. Such an easy going kid, never complaining and just happy to be here. You befriend the friendless, stick up for anyone and are a kind and loving friend and daughter. You adore your brother for who he is and will do anything for him, even if that means turning off your Emo music to go and jump on the trampoline with him or do endless chin ups on the swing set, just because it makes him giggle to see you do it.

You are the sort of person that others aspire to be. I am proud of you. And I hope that I had something to do with moulding you to be the wonderful person that you are, and the amazing woman you will soon become.

Happy Birthday my baby girl.

Love Mummy.