Complaints

It’s not an unmotherly devil that lives inside me – just an impatient one. I stand in line, or I lay in bed and the sound of screaming/crying and complaining – re: ages 4and up – make me want to shake the children til they lose consciousness and fall asleep. Shake them til saliva dribbles out of their uhhhh-looking mouths. Everything I’m angry about and every hunger in my bones channels through my arms as I shake them to quiet. I dislike parents (foreign parents) who now live in the states and let their kids get away with this loud dumbness because this land is about FREEEEEEEDOM of speech :::giggle, giggle:::  But aren’t they cute? No. No, they’re not cute. They’re up at 7 am and in the backyard yelling about whose turn it is to use the scooter and the smart relative who said “Hey kids, it’s early. Why not have some cereal and watch some Pink Panther or Flintstone episodes…” is dead now and worshipped and the parents are like; We’ll take it from here, thanks!

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