If I Were Texting With G-d, It Would Probably Look Like This...

After being awakened by my little man, 17 months old, several times last, I resumed my nightly conversation with G-d.  Since the sale of my house fell through, right before I go to bed, I spend fifteen minutes speaking to G-d.  Expressing gratitude, asking for things, or just telling G-d about my day.  But after waking up over and over last night to take care of the babe, who was stuffy and cranky, I resumed my conversation.  But since I was delirious with lack of sleep, I played out G-d's end of the conversation too.  It went something like this:
Me: Seriously? Again? What The Heck, G-d?
G: Yes?
M: Do You hate me or something? Why won't You let me sleep?
G: I'm not keeping you from sleeping, your baby is.
M: Yeah, but You're G-d.  And nothing happens that You don't will into being.  So how 'bout willing some sleep into my life?
G: And how would you like me to do that?
M: I don't know.  Go to my son and put him back to sleep for me.  And then keep him asleep for the rest of the night.
G: You want me to intervene with nature?
M: Uh, yeah.  You used to do it all the time.  Remember? Splitting the Red Sea, Clouds of Glory, oil lasting for eight days.  Even two hundred years ago You had these Rebbes who could see the future and fly in their carriages.  So, how about a little miracle being sent my way?
G: You don't live in a time of revealed miracles.  You live in a time of Faith.
M: Well, I'm sorry to tell Ya, but I'm kinda running low on the stuff.  Have you turned on the news lately?  You're not exactly batting a thousand down here.  Murder of innocents, endless wars, Sponge Bob Square Pants.  It's kind of hard to believe this is Your world.
G: So who's world is it?
M: Right now, I'd say the world belongs to corporations, chaos and science.
G: I see.  So what would you have Me do?
M: How about some awesome miracles?
G: And therefore take away all free will?
M: A lotta good it's done us so far.
G: Well, it has brought together millions of moments of chance that all led up to you being the mother of those three little ones you love so much.
M: ...
G: Nu?
M: Okay, so yeah, whatever, they are the most amazing children ever.  But they drive me freakin crazy!  It's not all hugs and arts and crafts.  It's fighting, and exhaustion beyond belief, and heartache, and pain, and so much exposed ugliness.  I thought I was a good person until I saw how mean and ugly I can get when pushed by them.
G: So you don't want them because they show you all sides of yourself?
M: No.  I didn't say that.  Don't twist my words.
G: So what are you saying?
M: I'm saying that we're told that You never give us more than we can handle.  But I'm calling BS on that.
G: You do know that you're talking to G-d, right?
M: Yeah, but if You're going to let me get woken up in the middle of the night, You better be prepared for some bad language.
G: Fair enough.
M: Back to what I was saying.  You gave me too much.  I seriously can't handle this shit.  And I'm not going to get into the big stuff like the Sandy shooting or the evil in this world.  That's way too much.  But just the details of my life.  I am doing what I thought I was supposed to do.  Being bold.  Following my dreams.  Pioneering this damn Jewish farm thing.  And you can't even sell my house in Pittsburgh? You are leaving me in the middle of nowhere, in the heat of summer and the freezing cold of winter, without my husband.  And don't get me started on how much work our marriage needs.  Like all marriages.  But we only have the weekends to do it!  And yes, my children are amazing.  And yes, I think they are better, more awesome and more amazing than every other child out there.  But that doesn't mean that they aren't the biggest freakin handful of challenges ever! I mean, come on.  THIS IS TOO FREAKIN MUCH!
G: Go on...
M: What? No! This isn't a freakin therapy session.  I'm not talking to a therapist who's only job is to help me discover more about myself.  I'm talking to G-d! YOU can fix this shit!
G: Again with the language.
M: Sorry.
G: It's ok.  I'm used to it.  You wouldn't believe how many texts start with OMFG.
M: Wait, are You trying to be funny?
G: Would you like a G-d with a sense of humor?
M: Not if it's at my expense.
G: You know, your baby is still crying.
M: Yeah, aren't You going to do something about it?
G: Nope.
M: Aaahhhh WTF? What's the point of even talking to You?
G: Good question.  What are you getting out of all this?
M: I don't know.  Maybe just the feeling that I'm not alone?
G: Are you asking Me, or telling Me?
M: Oh man, now You really sound like a therapist.
G: Yes, but My rates are much lower.
M: Oh, You were trying to be funny again, weren't You?
G: About your baby...
M: Oh fine.  Whatever.  Don't help.  But don't ask me to be a nice and patient mom tomorrow.
G: Did I not create coffee?
M: This conversation is SO over.
G: Goodnight Tovah.
M: Yeah.  Night G-d... I'm still mad at You.
G: Okay.