Satire

Excuse Me While I Go Stare at the Eclipse so I Don’t Have to Look at This Fucking Mess Anymore

eclipse

 

Kids,

I’m super sorry I threatened to dismember every Barbie left on the floor, limb by awkwardly-bent limb. I totally regret my promises to have Zumba practice on top of all the shit in your room if you won’t clean it up.

It’s just… I’m tired of looking at Thomas the fucking Tank and his merry band of communists scattered all over the living room. When your secret fort is reduced to the battered remains of every couch pillow and blanket in the house, I don’t want to see it. I’m done.

Since you won’t change your behavior, a fact made clear when you left a bowl full of pee next to the bathtub, I guess I’ll have to change my expectations. See, I’ve learned a thing or two in therapy.

I tried to keep one room spotless and spend my time there, but honestly, the linen closet was starting to feel a bit cramped. Changing the house is only a temporary solution — in order to find lasting peace, I am going to have to change myself.

So, on Monday, while you look at the stupid dot of light disappearing on a paper plate, I am going to stare directly at the fucking sun.

Good luck finding your shoes without my help.

Love,
Mom

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Rhiannon Giles

Rhiannon Giles is a freelance writer from Durham, North Carolina. She interweaves poignancy and humor to cover topics ranging from prematurity to parenting and mental health. Her work has been featured on sites such as The New York Times, Washington Post, Parents, Scary Mommy, McSweeney's, and HuffPost. You can find her being consistently inconsistent on her blog, Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram.

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