Note to my Children

Dear Children,
Just so you know, I was not always this crazy. I was, once upon a time, in a galaxy far, far away, a lovely woman with a college education and a job outside of this house. I had good okay hair and a waist.
I was also able to shower without anyone busting into the bathroom to announce that someone found a piece of cat poop and ran around the house with it before they threw it in the storage closet in the basement. Why. Why would anyone touch cat poop? Can this wait until I have a least gotten the shampoo rinsed from my hair?
I used to be able to form full, coherent sentences. I did not sputter, or stutter. I did not mix-up words.
No one ever made me so out of my mind crazy that I could not speak. No one ever stared at me blankly like I was speaking a foreign language when I explain for the umpteenth time that it is not okay to sit on your sister's head. Even if it is the only way to get her to stop talking. Not breathing and not talking are not the same. Do not kill your sister. It is not okay.
There was a time when I enjoyed reading and exercising and long talks with your father.
Of course, I was getting more than five hours of uninterrupted sleep back then.
Not one person would come into my room during the night to announce their bodily functions. I did not share my bed with multiple short people. I did not (well maybe once or twice) wake up and wonder where the heck am I because someone had taken over my side of the bed and I was forced to another bed. I did not have to wonder what was making my leg feel suddenly warm. It was never some other persons urine. Never.
When you wonder what happened to your Mom, take a long look in the mirror and ask yourself if it was all worth it. And you can bet your ass I am coming to live with you when I am old and loud and can no longer control MY bladder. Oh, and scoot over because I will be getting in bed with you.
All My Love,
Your Crazy Mom