Life is a Mystery
We have the most boring tasteless breakfasts. Everyone else eats better food. Why can’t we have better breakfasts? I eat toast every single morning.
Are you serious? Why do I have to clip my nails? You make us do the stupidest things.
This is going to be the worst day of my life.
Has dad ever cleaned up around here?
I hate this. I’m going to be basically cleaning the house all day. This is so stupid.
We never get to do anything fun. We need a better house.
I have to do everything around here. You never tell anyone else to do anything.
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Three different kids said that last one to me within an hour of each other, which provides you with all the evidence you need to take absolutely everything my children say with one large dose of salty salt.
How is it possible that I love them more than life itself, these people who harangue me at every turn, who pile disgust on top of ingratitude on top of narcissism? How is it possible that I am still feeding them, doing their laundry, and finding their soccer socks on game day?
This is truly one of the great mysteries of life.
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