A Letter to the Two Year Old

Dearest Jake:

If you could be ever so kind, will you please now refrain from waking up at 3 a.m. demanding junk food? As you know, I cannot resist a treat, however 3 a.m. is where my sweet tooth draws the line. Midnight Snack, dude, no later. We had this discussion at the boob a few years back, maybe though this time you will get the message.

Also, would you please stop bullying your older and bigger brother and sister? I know, on occasion, I too find it somewhat funny that they squeal and run away from a two year old. But see when you grab the light saber and start swinging it like an ax, I worry about picture frames and my owl figurines getting smashed to smithereens. Beyond that, when your siblings start screaming in my ear like they are in some horror film and hanging on me, again, this is where I draw the line.

Since I have you, I must squeeze in this request. Will you please eat normal meals? Seriously. The bagel and cream cheese, cereal, french fry diet you've got going on makes me a bad mother. How about a nice and healthy Go Gurt? Oh, that's right, you slurped down all 8 of those yesterday. Irregardless, kids your age eat fruits and vegetables. Or how about a chicken leg? You can even dip it in ranch and ketchup.

I also find the need to let you know that jumping on the bed after I have made it, is just not acceptable. Your brother has 5 zillion stuffed animals that I just arranged to his obsessive compulsive likeness and when you jump, they just scatter. And please stop asking if how high you jump is awesome - o.k., maybe it's a little awesome, do you have springs in your heels?

Opening the front door when religious solicitors knock during the days is not o.k. We don't need to be hospitable to everyone, most especially when you answer with no pants on, let the dog out, and I have clearly instructed you to stand frozen nice and quietly in the kitchen like me and that we are playing a really fun game. You are potty training, you are 2 years old, and you are not the welcome wagon. Just because they hold a bible in their hands doesn't mean they are your friends and want to play choo choos.

And another thing, the grocery store is not an obstacle course military boot camp, or a running track. I am sorry to be the one to break this news to you. People don't find it cool that you and your brother can jump over a box of bananas. I also don't think they will be cheering the two of you on as you race down aisle six and slide across the end cap, 'finish line.' I am also quite certain that the shelf stocker doesn't find it absolutely fascinating that you and E can slither behind boxes of food on the bottom shelf only knocking down five or six boxes from one end to the other. I'm just saying.


I also feel that as your mother I need to tell you that when volunteering at the SPCA, its is not recommended that you put a cat in a half nelson and then ask, 'you like me, Meow?' Not all cats are like Lillian, she is fat and lazy and doesn't give two sacks of cat nip what you do to her as long as she is fed.

The bathtub, my love, is not a pool. Despite what your brother says' he did not learn his mad swimming skills from practicing in the tub. He is just a plain old 5 year old fibber. So please stop jumping from the toilet into the tub, the floor is going to rot right through to the kitchen floor.

Arguing with me at 6 a.m. about what you want to watch on t.v. is just not kosher. Diego is not on all the time like Sex & the City and The Big Bang Theory. I realize this is unfair, I mean you only have 600 channels to choose from that are something "Jr", times are tough. And Little Bill needs to be your favorite? Could you pick a show that is on anymore random?

Hey, and how about we sit down and get serious about some potty training? You're clearly ready. You can't fool me, ask your siblings. So stop hiding in the corners with your face all red, and quit grabbing your wiener to get ready to feel the warmth come into the front of your diaper like its a magic trick. Quit blaming everyone else for the foul smell in the playroom. Mom Mom doesn't poop in her pants, like you are claiming. And also, not everyone wants to know that your belly hurt so you pooped and now it's better; especially not the librarian.

And lastly, please stop asking me about wieners and if someone has one or not, it's a little embarrassing. It's not appropriate to stop and point and a person and then ask me, 'Ma-yee, that guy have a wiener? That girl have a wiener?' And I'm pretty sure that everyone is aware that I don't have a wiener since I am dragging three kids around that came out of me, so please stop announcing when we arrive at somewhere new, 'Ma-yee not have a wiener.' It's not a public service announcement to be made.

Now saying all that, I think you should know that all of this becomes irrelevant when you squeeze me tight and tell me you love me, covering my fave with your slobbery snotty kisses. You have made all of this obsolete with your uncanny use of manners. Could you get on your brother and sister about gettin down with some? That would be great. With all of your sweet little two year old quirks and entertaining sense of humor beyond your years you have me, so my complaints become unnecessary. You're awfully cute, so 3 am ain't  all that bad, so long as you snuggle with me and pass the M &M's.

Love,
Mommy
XOXO