A Letter From Your Threenager

Dearest mom,

I am writing this letter because I’d like to fill you in on a few things. A few very important things that you definitely need to know. You are always wondering why I get angry or lose it over the littlest things. You are always asking me the questions like “what’s wrong?” or “what do you need?”  or "why are you crying?" In your mind I am an angry little dictator…always demanding something. Maybe I kind of am. The truth is, mom, you just don’t really understand me. I feel that my demands are very clear, but you somehow seem to mess it up every single time. 

You just don’t get shit right. Simple as that. How hard is it to know when I want the pink cup or that I HATE those pants...or wearing pants at all? Sometimes, you even give me snacks that I hate. Never mind that I just asked for it. Come on, mom. Figure. This. Out. 

Let me give you a few examples of your ineptitude.

• You never understand my words. Literally. Are you stupid? 
• I don’t want your help. With anything. Ever. I can do it myself…until I do want your help. Then, drop what you are doing and help me immediately. Hurry! Do you want me to lose it again?
• You are always rushing me. Just stop. If it takes me until hell freezes over to put on one slip-on shoe, then so be it. It needs to be just right…so stop rushing.
• Pants are the devil. Stop making me wear them. I prefer to be pants-less at all times.
• Sometimes I want a hug and sometimes I don’t. It’s up to you to know when.
• Dinner? I don’t want that shit. I’d rather manhandle all the food on your plate or just eat the stashed candy I keep under my bed.
• Stop trying to pick out my clothes. Seasons don’t matter. If I want to wear a tank top backwards and shorts when it is 10 below zero, then so be it. I’m a fashionista. You’ll see.
• Please just don’t say no. To anything. I am three now. I can make my own decisions. If I want to do art while we are eating dinner, just let me. If I want to take a three-hour bath, let me do that too. If I want to play in the sandbox naked, that’s my choice. No more of this “no” shit. Kapeesh? 
• If I get frustrated about anything, it is going to get thrown directly at you. Probably at your head. Sharpen up your reflexes.
• Figure out my moods…there are really only two: Raging mad or adorably lovey.

So, mom, next time you see me flop around on the floor, screaming hysterically, and completely losing my shit, you need to know it is because of you. Instead of trying to get me to stop, just wait until I am done, applaud my mad tantruming skills, and then give me a hug…and maybe some candy. Unless less I don’t want you to. Figure it out. 

Love,

Your Threenager

Hazmat Mom

Do you mind being puked on, spit on, or peed on? Do you enjoy spending your days wiping noses, sticky fingers, and poopy butts? If you answered yes to any of these questions, being a mom might be the job for you. 

All the mommies out there will tell you… you encounter some pretty repulsive things while tackling this parenting thing, and most of them on a daily basis. Folks, raising kids is disgusting. Kids themselves are disgusting and they definitely have some questionable hygiene practices. Most adults (I said MOST) know how to deal with the body’s disgusting stuff in sanitary ways. Kids on the other hand, they are pretty helpless and don’t grasp the monumental grossness of what they are doing. That leaves mom to clean up the mess and try to teach them how not to be disgusting.

Motherhood is a serious business. I’ve heard that being a mom is the hardest and most important job of all…and after being a mom myself for the last 8 years, I would have to agree. Not only is raising a child into a respectable and kind human being difficult, at times, it is also pretty gross. As a mom, I’ve encountered feces, vomit, boogers, and spit more times than I can even count. I’ve seen things you could have never imagined pre-kids…and no matter how hard I try, I can’t unsee them. If I’m being honest, a hazmat suit would come in pretty handy sometimes.

Here are just a few of the hazardous jobs moms do:

Director of Regurgitation: How many times have you been puked on or spit up on? How much vomit have you cleaned up? Moms are regurgitation specialists, whether they like it or not. Not only will you clean up vomit and spit up, but there will also be oodles of spit out and chewed food, too.

Snot Stream Specialist:  Kids always seem have a stream of green snot running down their upper lip. It’s just a fact of life with kids.  It is mom’s job to eliminate this snot stream before it becomes a little warm snack for them. Just a heads up…watch out for the sneeze. Really. Watch out.

Fecal Matter Investigator: You will examine more poo that you ever thought. You will genuinely care about the color, consistency, frequency, and even smell of the poop and will have detailed conversations about it. Yes, you will talk about poop…with doctors, spouses, your kids, and even friends. AND…you will eventually touch it. Might be when cleaning out a massive blow out that reaches their hair, or perhaps you are fishing out floaters out of the bathtub, but poop will be in your hands.

Odor reduction Specialist: Kids smell. End of story. Mom gets to find the sources of all the smelly surprises and eliminate them before they become too pungent. Could be poop, could be sweat, could be rancid breath…use your imagination. Not only do we get to smell the children themselves, but then there is the rotten food, rancid milk found in a sippy cup in the car, or that small piece of chicken nugget found under the couch cushion.

Motherhood is a lot of things—some beautiful, some awful, and some really, really gross. We do this all without vacations, sick days, or raises. We are soldiers. We get this shit done. Literally.

Dear Kids...Meet Dad

Dear kids,

I would like to formally introduce you to someone very special. He might look vaguely familiar to you and you have probably seen him around the house. He lives right here with us, and eats dinner with us each night. You know, the guy you rough house with, play outside with, and talk Pokemon stats with…He is your dad. I wanted to point him out to you, because I fear that you may not realize that he is here and can help you out with things, too. Whenever you want or need something, he must become invisible and you can’t see him. It’s the only explanation. I wasn’t aware of his superhuman camouflage power until we had kids. Now, I beg him to teach me his impressive incognito ways.

Here is the thing, kids. Your dad is a smart guy. His legs are not broken, and he is perfectly capable of doing all sorts of things. He can get you milk, he can answer hard math questions, he can get you a snack, and he can even help you locate your missing hats and mittens (ok…maybe that one is a bit of a stretch). I have also heard rumors that he is super good at helping put on pants and socks. I know I’m your mom and you clearly think I am amazing, but I am really not the only one in this house capable of doing most of the things that you are asking. I am so tired of saying, “Ask your father! He’s right there!” How can you not see him? 

To prove my point, let me give you a little example of what I am talking about. Remember that time when I was upstairs in the shower and you decided you wanted a granola bar but didn’t know where they were? Remember when you walked past your dad in the kitchen, through the living room, all the way up the long flight of stairs, through the hall, through my bedroom, and finally into my bathroom to ask me to find them for you? Yeah. It would have been way easier to just ask your dad. He was right there! Could have saved a lot of time. 

So, next time you are hungry, thirsty, hot, cold, hurt, sick, or in need of anything at all, let’s try something new…ASK YOUR DAD! 

Love,

Mom