Dear God,

Obviously, I love my kids with every little fiber of my being, but I swear to,, actually, that they're involved in some sort of conspiracy theory to drive me straight to the loony bin.  Seriously, if I didn't know any better, I'd think they'd bought stock in Crazy Town, which is clearly where I'll be residing soon enough.  Any potential moment of silence is abruptly interrupted with noises that would make even a deaf man cringe.

Is this some sort of a challenge you've assigned to them to see just how much Mama can take?  Cause I can only imagine that's why they continue to think that 9 PM is an appropriate time to come downstairs and have a snack every friggin' night.  Have you not heard me screaming "Oh, hell to the NO!!!!" in my Whitney Houston voice every time they come whining down the stairs night after night?  I'm kinda at my breaking point here, Big Man.

So if there's any possible way you would consider diving deep into your backpack of divine interventions, I could seriously use one this week.  My thinking cap is at the dry cleaner's, my patience is out to lunch, and my sanity went into hiding about eight years ago.  Mama needs a break, yo.

May peace be with you (and also with ME!!!!!),
NFM  :-p

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