P,

As I anticipate the imminent arrival of the other P, her own four cherubs and one of mine, I pause to reflect upon the fact that she is flying with five children.  Her husband, inevitably, is busy with work, and will join much later.  I have only one word of advice for her fearless journey: Xanax in abundant supply.   

I’ve made a significant decision to remove the mask of domestic perfection (it is, I freely admit, my cross to bear), and confess my rather panicky anticipation of the week.  I fear my full-time role will be reduced to delivering sustenance and entertainment to the sixteen pairs of underage eyes gazing upon me.  Therefore, I have decided to approach the children, all eight of them, much like I would hostile combatants.  Yes, even the baby, as I fear she is the strongest insurgent among them.  Like any enemy, children are generally o.k. in limited numbers and when separated from their strongest supporters, i.e., other children.  Hence, I will refuse all outings involving all eight at once as this is when they are likely to stage a coup.  Although I can always lure the youngers in with candy, who knows what kind of preteen blackmail hell the olders may be capable of. 

P, if you don’t hear from me by the middle of next week, please send the best anti-terror unit in DC to my address.  Someone well able to look past the sweet innocence of their faces would be a plus.  But please do use some discretion as I don’t want to sully the permanent records of my own cherubs.  I do, after all, have their future applications to boarding school to consider.

Faithfully,

C.

Dear C,

Given your current predicament, and assuming you haven’t already been tied up and gagged by the army of child soldiers under your care, I see nothing for it, dear C, other than to fortify yourself with several large Cosmopolitans and a snack bowl of crunchy Xanax, before proceeding to pen the sequel to the best-selling book of the same name.  Each time you find yourself heading for the emergency room or county jail, either to admit yourself or release the youngest on bail, consider what an amusing jape this will make on the page.  Intersperse it with a couple of scenes of nail-biting drama, as when daughter follows up on her daily threat to run away, and the dollars, along with the tears, should flow.

By way of inspiration, dear C, it might interest you to know that the author of the original Eight is Enough actually raised his brood in our neighborhood. Of course, the guy did work for the CIA, which must confer considerable advantages when it comes to figuring out how to sabotage and defeat the enemy – I mean, impose parental discipline – but don’t let that stop you.  Oh, and his wife also worked as an aide for JFK – surely the only way a woman can give birth to eight children and still retain her sanity.  Could it be that in absenting themselves from this charming party by claiming pressure of work, your hubby, and hubby of the other P, have discovered the only respectable alibi for parental neglect?

Faithfully,

P.