Thursday, August 8, 2013

Dear Ms. Becky


My adorable and obviously perfect three-year old will soon be starting pre-school for the first time.  I’ve drafted a letter to his unsuspecting, incredibly sweet teacher.

 
 


Dear Ms. Becky,

I’d like to begin with a series of apologizes in advance of you willingly agreeing to take my son for six hours each week.  Pre-apologies, if you will.

First, I’m sorry that he whole-heartedly believes that if he sticks his fingers in his mouth one more time, his fingers will, in fact, fall off.  I’m also sorry that he will, undoubtedly share this fact with his classmates.

I’m sorry that his finger is either up his nose, in his ear, or on his wiener.  I’m sorry that no one in our family is mature enough to call the male anatomy anything other than a wiener.

I’m sorry for when he will hand you a booger.

I’m sorry that bribery is our preferred form or parenting.  He is probably going to ask you for a toy if he poops in the toilet, right after he announces to the class that he just pooped in the toilet, before he’s pulled up his pants or wiped.

I’m sorry that he is frustratingly stubborn.  He is going to tell you “I don’t know” when he really does know but simply doesn’t want to answer.

I’m sorry that he cries a lot.  A LOT.

I’m sorry that he eats at the pace of a snail on death row savoring each bite of his last meal.

I’m sorry - and proud - that his vocabulary far outstretches his maturity.

I’m sorry he inherited a healthy dose of OCD from his mother.

I’m sorry that he never shuts up.  Ever.  He definitely gets that trait from his father.

I’m sorry for the time that he will pee on your floor.  It’s bound to happen at least once.  I’m hoping you will take this opportunity to re-think that puppy you’ve been wanting.

I’m sorry that he will freak out when his hands get dirty.

I’m sorry that he will take a year to tell you one thing he is super excited about.  His brain often thinks faster than his lips can speak.

I’m sorry that he thinks cavity bugs live in his mouth.

I’m sorry he is observant to a fault.
I'm sorry he thinks farts are hilarious.


I'm sorry the only flowers he will ever give you will be dead weeds he picked from the playground.

I’m sorry he has a memory like Rain Man.  But not ever when you want him to.

I’m sorry that he will interrupt your class to sing a song, jingle, or made-up ditty.  And that he will, at random, repeat lines from commercials – his current favorite, “Crispy bacon HERE!”

I will also tell you that he is all boy, pardon the cliché.  But he is 100% a wiggly, dirty, crumb-dropping, juice-spilling, ninja-kicking, racecar racing, attention span lacking, goofy, lanky, skinned-knee, backwards-pants-wearing, still needs fifteen ‘lovies’ to sleep at night, three-year-old boy.

So, I guess more than anything, I’m apologizing for our parental short-comings.  Our goal has been to only screw him up enough to make him funny, but not enough to send him to therapy.  So far he tends to be extremely sweet, and intensely hilarious.

Mission accomplished.

-Kelsey Butcher


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