To the big kid: Stop singing that fucking song. You know it is making me insane. I have asked you nicely to stop twice and you complied...for a few minutes. Until you were standing right at my back humming that annoying ass song again. Usually you are a pretty good singer and your chipmunk voice makes it cute, but this is not even a recognizable tune and it just drones on and on. You know there are no hard and fast rules for singing and that punishing you for it would seem extreme...but things may get extreme if you don't stop. Because I can't take it. Mr. Ashley is also about to lose it on you, and he has the patience of a saint. So knock it off, it isn't cute.
To the little kid: Life's not that bad. I know you think so and I know we've been over this before, but it's not Darfur or anything. I'm going to sit you down in front of one of those Save the Children infomercials if the "woe is me" thing continues. Your toy collection rivals the Toys R Us showroom, nothing is expected of you, and I spend 40% of my day performing a 3 ring circus for your enjoyment (and I know this is where the problem lies, regrettably you require a three ring circus 100% of the time, and I just can't). You are well fed. You are wrapped in a $70 Little Giraffe blanket that is as soft as a cloud and far softer than anything I own when you are forced kicking and screaming into your crib (that is still in my room!) When you are being good you are so freaking sweet and cute. When you are being bad, you're still pretty cute but mostly just annoying.
I love you both and I want this to work out. If these antics continue, you may find yourself at home with a nanny while mommy dresses up and goes to work and lunch meetings and such. I will make sure the nanny is no nicer, no prettier, no more lenient, and no more fun than I am, so don't be thinking you'll work that to your advantage either.
Thank you in advance for your cooperation.