Archive for the ‘letters’ Tag
March 12 2012
Dearest Daughter,
Our power struggles over clothes began when you were a wee littler barely a year old. You have always had strong opinions on what you should wear, and we’ve had arguments over suitable attire since before you could actually communicate in legitimate words.
As long as all important areas are covered, I normally just let it go. Mix and match, go crazy. Express your creativity, girl.
It’s when those areas are not covered that I have a problem.
So imagine my discomfort as you were getting dressed this weekend. And you refused to wear underwear with your shorts.
Shorts are not underwear.
This was the lecture I was forced to engage in with you, my 3 year old daughter, which is not the way I imagined my Saturday morning. I sat you down and explained how shorts were like pants, and we need underwear with both. We wear underwear, period. Always. It doesn’t matter. I’m only thinking of you, this is for your own good. Because while it might start innocuously enough, next thing you know your private bits are splashed on the cover of magazines.
There’s a woman named Britney Spears. Also, Paris Hilton. I can show you pictures when you’re older. Though I’d really prefer not to. Just trust me and put on some underwear.
Love,
Mom
February 14 2012
Dear Dora and Boots,
On this Valentine’s Day, I thought I would do things a little differently. See, my kids have each adored you at various points in their young lives. You have been on our television for 8 years now to some degree, and it feels like you’re a part of my family.
Albeit, a very high-pitched part of my family that I would normally try my damnedest to avoid because like that’s really what I need. I mean, is it necessary to yell at us, Dora? We can hear you, tone it down.
Bossy demeanor aside, my daughter currently seems to find you, Dora, and your trusty sidekick Boots, appealing. Thus she can usually be found in front of the television in the early hours, watching intently as you ask the talking map for yet another reminder of directions. We won’t get into what this is really teaching my child, or how you should know your way home by now, or even how you’re a girl far too young to be trusted exploring alone with a monkey. These are all separate issues to address on a different day. Although I can’t help but wonder if your parents ever check on you. All I know is, my daughter looks up to you with love for a bit of time every morning so that I can accomplish what needs done.
Love comes in unexpected places, Dora.
For that, this Valentine’s Day card is for you.
However, there was one episode that recently aired where you instructed those watching to reach out their arms and catch your big, blue balls. Now, Valentine’s Day or not, that’s just taking things too far. What is that monkey teaching you?
January 04 2012
Dearest Buzz,
You start a new school today. Because no one wanted to listen to me.
It’s not my choice. I would have preferred you stay at the school you’ve known, with your brother by your side, at least until the end of this, your first, school year. Your progress there has been amazing, surpassing my expectations. They taught you how to write your name, and beginning words. You know your letters and can count to 100, though you skip a lot along the way. It’s the little things that most your age have known how to do for awhile but you’ve struggled with. And now you’re learning. Not just learning, but loving.
In switching schools after you’ve just begun to feel comfortable, I’m afraid that will change.
I also know, however, how you’ve surprised me in the past. You manage to work in mysterious ways. You’ve taken actions in stride after I’ve already braced against the aftermath. You rise and you fight, even when your fear is palpable. I left you crying mercilessly on the very first day of school, I’m terrified I’m going to leave you the same again. It breaks my heart to do this to you twice.
But you are strong. And you are bright. And you’re going to do wonderful. I know change is hard to understand, but I’m trying to do what’s best for you, even when it’s not my favorite choice.
Although if you want to raise hell just for the first few days, you have my support. I’d kind of like to say I told you so.
With so much love,
Your Mom
November 10 2011
Dearest Jedi,
As I am writing this, you are proudly burping at the desk across from me. Every time, you ask delightedly, “Did you hear that?”. Every time I say, “Of course I did”. Because of course I did.
For your birthday today, along with a few other things, I bought you a book where the main premise had to do with farts. Super farts that could make you fly into the air.
This is you at 8. My son. My boy. Farting and burping.
But so much more. You a genius on the computer. What you know how to do honestly astounds me. You have surpassed my knowledge by leaps, and I’ve found myself asking you how to do things on a number of occasions. Your Grandma likes to say that maybe you’ll be the next Bill Gates. She may not be far off.
You are brilliant and beautiful and excited. Dramatic and loud. A torpedo of constant motion and conversation. And as much as you complain when your siblings invade your space, as impatient as you can be, I also see how you look out for them when you think no one is watching. You make sure Buzz is safe at school and you comfort Abby when she’s upset. You are a wonderful big brother.
I am so proud of you in so many ways. And as I finish writing this, as if right on cue, you exclaimed, “Now that I smell it, my farts really do smell bad”.
My farting, burping, smelly, amazing now 8 year old boy.
Happy Birthday.
Love,
Mom
October 13 2011
Dear Dog,
Maybe dear is too intimate a greeting here. You’re not my dog, after all. And even if you were, I’m not sure I’d reference you with such affection. Though you did follow me home, much to my chagrin. I’m just glad I didn’t have any kibble available, because I know I would have fed you and then you would have never left.
Because while I may talk a big game, I’m really a softie. Just ask my parents. They were left with a batch of strays I couldn’t help but offer a home when I moved out.
Which isn’t to say you’re not cute. You’re very cute. With your pointy black ears and enthusiastic tail, I want to scratch your scruffy belly. It’s just, you see, you’re a puppy with a lot of energy. Too much for me to handle right now, to be honest. Just the thought of you is exhausting. Though, admittedly, that isn’t a terrible feat with 3 kids who run circles around me. I could barely muster the gumption to take care of our cat, and he just slept all day.
This is what I’m asking of you, then. I know it’s not fun to be restrained. You want to run! And chase squirrels! And kids! Must tackle the kids! But I worry about you when you’re out there, alone. I mean, there are cars and the bad things that could happen make me want to look out for you. You damn dog.
So if you could just stay in your own yard. Or at least stop excitedly lunging for us at lightning speed from out of nowhere as we shuffle to the bus stop. You’re scaring the crap out of my daughter and making my already sucktastic mornings even more difficult. That much would be appreciated.
I hope we have an understanding,
The one with your eager dirty paw prints on her pants
I'm Crystal. A 30-something mom to 3 young kids living in the Midwest USA. When I'm not chasing my children, I'm a freelance writer and web designer. I like to tell stories from our days and share what we enjoy...
