Dear Molly

...
We are in literacy overload here, folks and just like Santa Claus every Christmas morning... these letters just keep a'showin' up.

Who knew that all it took to have our endorsement of a Dear Abby, er, Molly, column would be the provisions of some cardstock paper (for the mightiest of thoughts and/or angriest declarations), a couple choice markers and a roll of tape? The kid's on fire.

They appear everywhere. At random hours, Señorita bossypants has taken to written form and there is just no going back. Our oldest is a bit neurotic intense, and really, quite unfortunately for her--- no one else really is. We need structure. We need rules. And now, thanks to Molly's 'gentle' reminders, we can stay on track. She really drives that type A train all the way to the station, no?

Case in point. 

Day one in to Molly's new space, she ran jubilantly -like a spry bony bird- up two flights of stairs to her long awaited, highly coveted new room. Whereas most kids in a moment like this would, I don't know, jump on the bed or something with joy? Perhaps get to playing with all the toys that a certain baby sister in old, shared spaces used to destroy? Nope. First point of action. RULES. On the door. No looting happening in there.

It originally read: "Molly's room. Closd. Today."

After some gentle reminders that harsh texts can really follow you in life... we had a revision. "Molly's room: Closd. Today." BUT. (as really, really highlighted by Molly) if you randomly, happened to accidentally flip it over, you would see in tiny, barely legible form, "Opin." See-- kindness and options. Our very own Mother Theresa.

The letters are really informative reflections of Molly's raw emotions, people. A few weeks ago after her own moment of a terrible-awful that landed her some reflection time in her room, consequently resulted in our first (I'm sure of many) runaway notes. Tearstained ink and all.

* in case you were wondering. Little symbols in bottom right are for love and peace. What an Austinite.

The follow up went a little bit like this:

Molly: "I'm going to have to run away because I just can't be here any more".

Me: "Molly, I'm sorry to hear that because we love you so much. ---open front door--- but if you MUST go, I understand." "Oh, but if you go... don't forget that there some bad people in this world that will not take care of your body like we do at home."

Molly: *several moments of quiet reflection* Well, what will I eat if I go?

Me: "You'll probably have to eat earthworms."

Molly: (Gasp!), Where will I go to the bathroom?

Me: (Flatly ---you really get the best reaction this way), "In the bushes."

Molly: (Heavy sighs/almost whisper talking): "What if it rains?"

Gabriel (interrupting very matter-of-factly): "Well, you're going to get wet."

Molly: (dramatic tears...) 

Gabriel: (A happy exit. His work was done.)

While the plans of escape did come to an abrupt halt, the letters have not.

Her most recent letter appeared last night, taped emphatically to her bathroom drawer for any trespassing, potentially looting, younger siblings to read. I sure hope they consider themselves warned.

Alas, it really is a shame they can't read.