Dear Mom,
We should talk about this morning. I am sorry you were so woefully unable to meet my meager needs. I want you to know it's ok. I'm over it. You're not perfect.
In the future when I ask to eat raw potatoes for breakfast, just let me. It will go easier for all of us. Despite taking no time to cook or clean them, I require that they be edible. You can easily use your grown-up magic to accomplish this. I have seen you make two cheese slices were there was only one, all in the blink of an eye. I know what you are capable of.
When I ask to carry the 20 lb sack of potatoes to the car, oblige me. Of course I’ll need you to carry it most of the way. But I know you can carry me and the potato sack and your purse and a diaper bag and your coffee and your sack lunch. I've seen you do it before. I won’t allow you to live up to anything other than your full potential for hauling our family’s necessities.
When I want to strip down naked in the car, pull over and help me. Don't just sit behind the steering wheel guffawing to your obscenely non-musical programs about the budget and Syria. NPR is stupid. Terry Gross is stupid. Getting my pants off in spite of my car seat straps is not stupid. It is everything and it is HAPPENING RIGHT NOW.
Deep breath. This got heated. I don’t want to raise my voice. Let's regroup. Remember—tomorrow is another day for you to try to please me better.
Love,
Your two-year-old
About the Author
