my children will stop fighting.
Then I will indulge in a full twelve hours of sleep, a stiff drink, and maybe 24 hours after the moment when the fighting ceases, I will regain my sanity.
Apropos of my wish to regain my sanity, I'm sending this message out into the blogosphere where it may fall upon receptive ears: STOP CALLING ME TO COMPLAIN. STOP CALLING ME. STOP. I CANNOT TAKE ANYMORE COMPLAINING.
This is not simply directed at my mother, mind you, although I could do without the daily phone calls from her to give me updates on the parrot whose beak fell off. (Yes. You read that correctly. Its beak fell off. -- Splat -- She's handfeeding it and hoping that it will grow back. Ummmm. Considered euthanasia, my dear? Because, umm, not meaning to be mean and all that, but, eh, did you just say that its Beak fell OFF? Quick! Someone ring Monty Python!)
It's not just my mother, it's everyone else who calls these days. I've got 17 messages on my phone right now and they all want to just bitch at me for something or other.
I want to go out to a cabin in the woods, tuck a cat on my lap, turn off the phone and drink myself into oblivion.
Until then, can you kids stop fighting? Now?