Come to my window

Dear Max, Clara and Zizzles,
Here's the window through which I observed the three of you, in various stages of disenchantment, this afternoon. I had to call Verizon to tell them that our neighbors phone line was down so I slipped outside to conduct a conversation without the automated phone system interpreting your screaming as answers to their questions. (This has happened a number of times and I couldn't deal with this today.) Anytime I pick up the phone your brains instantly link up to kick off a series of unfortunate chemical events where you are instantaneously rendered deprived and dejected and in need of 110 percent of my attention. (That translates into 330% which is impossible for mamma! I know, you aren't capable of grasping this yet... Even if you put your best mind on the job, you'd only be able to count to 100.)
Fortunately for me, the phone does ring from time to time and while I don't have to pick it up, I usually just need to. It's my life raft to the outer world where people live perfectly happy lives without changing 16 diapers a day and breaking up fights over My Pretty Pony. Or they are also changing 16 diapers a day and breaking up fights over My Pretty Pony so we can commiserate about the complicated soup we doggy paddle in daily.
I promise I'll only slip outside if I have to make a really important phone call... like if I need to discuss who just got booted off America's Next Top Model. If something urgent comes up while I'm out there, just press your little face to the window glass (keep your lips off the lead pane please) and mouth the problem to me. Much the like automated phone system I had to "speak" with earlier today I'll put you through a series of prompts through my automated mamma fix it system and we'll get to the bottom of the problem after about 10 minutes of me looking back at you through the window with a blank stare.
In fact I think I'll go rock that phone technology now, call my friend G to discuss how adorable all of you are and that even when I'm 10.5 seconds from calling 911 to request immediate transport to the local mental hospital, I'd endure another sea weed wrap administered by someone who doesn't speak English for you. Hopefully it won't come to that.
Love, Mamma