I was going to call you on the phone, but I assume you are deaf.
I deeply regret we cannot afford to buy you diamonds this holiday season. As you are attempting to teach musical instruments to both of my children, I know you deserve at least diamonds.
Instead, all I can offer you is this very poorly written poem...
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
I am so sorry for you.
Hot Cross Buns and Ode to Joy;
You gave a recorder to my boy?
He plays it madly,
He loves it, sadly.
The trumpet was not my idea.
For that you can blame my daughter, Lia.
They love duets and are quite a pair.
That sound makes me want to pull my hair!
I want the noise to dampen down.
I'm getting fine lines from my frown.
You, however, handle it well.
Amazing, 'cause it sounds like hell.
Years of doing this, and you look sane.
I think scientists should study your brain.
I can't stand another honk or tweet.
I am just not that sweet.
A Mom who hopes Santa brings her earplugs
Cheers to all the teachers who manage to teach our children how to read, write, add, subtract, and most amazingly of all...teach our children how to play musical instruments.