An Open Letter to God

In response to this dad's pledge to raise violent four-year-olds:

Dear God,

I know that You and I have not been on speaking terms for many years now. So I would not pipe up now if I weren't truly, truly desperate. I am here to make a deal. I will raise my 5-year-old son in the most violent manner possible so that he may Slayeth the hand of the Serpenteth if You will somehow grant me:

One. Solid. Night's. Sleep. No boy in my bed. No cat frittering at the birds at 4:30, then crying to be fed at 5:30. No snoring husband. Oh - and clean sheets would be a plus.

An instant 20-pound weight loss. No, wait - make it 25. I need the buffer.

A new iPod. Yes, I need it.

A hermetically sealed, locked box for the guilt I feel every time I read a book, take a long shower, and phone my sister.

An identical hermetically sealed, locked box for the stress I feel every time I see my stack of unread books, sniff my armpits, and get desperate "Are you okay?" email from my sister.

A deep and abiding friendship with New York City's most influential editors and publishers.

A staff, including a personal cook, housekeeper, nanny, financial manager, and Girl Friday. On second thought, maybe I just need a wife.

A lock on my office door.

Time. Space. Energy.

Hugs and kisses - Marjorie