Temper

     An Open Letter to my Husband and Teenage Sons:

Dear Testosterone filled males in my house, please cut it out. When u carry on at the dinner table and get all wound up over things that really are inconsequential. It makes the knots in my stomach twist like a Merchant Marine who needs a refresher course.  Add to that the stomping of the feet, the slamming of the dishes and the doors. Those knots get tighter and tighter with each temper flare.
     My sons I realize you are trying to find your way in this world, to break out from the cocoon, stretch your little wings and fly. And dear husband that knowledge is hard for you to swallow, but at least you can (you don’t have Merchant Marine knots).
     So please remember before you stomp and have your testosterone infused fits. Look around and realize. This is a learning process for all of us. Kyle your graduation is coming like a barreling freight train, Connor you already own a car that you can’t yet drive. Just take a deep breath, finish dinner, clear the table and talk to each other in pleasant tones. My stomach and my digestion will thank you. Because if Mom starts to stomp and slam, no one will be happy!

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