Tag Archives: Letters

Dear Grace

Oh, Grace. Where do I even start?

I love watching you when you don’t realize I’m paying attention to you. I see when you hide your toys from your sister and when you take her hands off the furniture you’re on or the toy you don’t want her to play with, which frustrates her to no end. I see the snacks you sneak from her. I find the clothes (namely socks) that you have stashed in various places around the house – at least, I do eventually. I hear you mutter things under your breath that you don’t think I’ll hear. Can’t you save that for at least the preteen years? I obviously hear you when you scream at me at the top of your little lungs… but then, I suspect everyone on our street does as well.  Continue reading

To My Future Self

Dear Future Francine,

Sometime, you will want to tell someone that some days, you’ve got this whole mothering thing down. You know that you’re no expert, but sometimes life just works out smoothly and there aren’t a whole lot of punches to roll with. Some phases of parenting are easier than others, and when one is going away, it’s easy to feel over-confident. Or even just confident. So confident, in fact, that you’ll casually mention how, in the moment, mothering isn’t so hard after all.

What folly.

Almost as soon as those words come out of your mouth, your normally fun, good-natured child will turn into a whiny, dramatic fit-throwing brat. The wonderful little sleeper? Gone. In her place is a kid who cries off and on throughout the night, for no other reason than asking for 398472348908 gallons of water to drink (and we all know that means wet sheets in the morning). Your relatively good eater? No longer. You now have a child who asks for food, refuses to eat it, and upon removal of said food, suddenly wants that particular item more than anything else in the world- until you give it back. The child will run away when you call her (laughing, of course), collapse into a crying heap at the drop of a hat, and generally do her best to make your life a miserable, grouchy existence.

Do yourself a favor, and avoid this happening at all costs. Your memory of times like these may get a little fuzzy, especially when you’re absorbed in the moment of something cute your offspring just did. Learn from your past mistakes, so that whenever you’re tempted to even think about how you found your mothering groove, you can nip that thought right in the bud before it comes back to haunt you. Because come back to haunt you, it will.

Past Francine

P.S. How did you get Grace to stop hitting you when she throws a fit because she didn’t get what she wants or is in timeout? I’d really love to know.

To Whom It May Concern:

Dear Makers of High Chairs:

Why oh why did you design high chairs with so many stupid crevices, nooks, and crannies? Obviously you have never tried to clean a month’s worth of cracker crumbs out of one. Oh, did I say month? I meant day.

a frustrated mom of a child with a filthy high chair

Which reminds me-

Dear Designers of Car Seats:
What was your reasoning behind your ridiculously complicated design of car seat padding? I’m sure you considered that children in car seats (pretty much anyone under the age of 14, these days) are prone to having accidents of various kinds, thus the need to dismantle car seat in order to clean/launder the padding. I’m sure you remembered that moms of small children have a lot on their hands already, without having to strip their child’s car seat to the bones to wash it. I’m sure you had a great reason, I’d just love to know what it is. And, I’m sure you’d agree, air drying is asking a little much when you’re under the gun to get somewhere.

as if I didn’t have enough trouble keeping up with laundry

Dear Baking Soda Box People:

What, pray tell, is the point of large, economy-sized boxes of baking soda if my measuring spoons won’t reach? Am I supposed to buy measuring spoons with economy-sized handles? That would totally defeat the purpose of the penny-saving economy sized box.

my spoon is too small

Dear Anthropologie:

Quit being so darn expensive. Yes, I did find your sale section, but it seems that my Claritin still won’t subdue my allergy to paying more for something than it’s really worth.

I’m taking my money elsewhere (read: Target)

Dear Sesame Street:

Why bother with the first forty minutes of each episode? You know that the only reason the kids really watch is for the last twenty, better known as Elmo’s World. I say, give the kids what they want.

I can only listen to “Elmo please” so many times during your show

Dear Neighborhood Cats:

Please stay out of my yard. This includes, but is not limited to, the deck and underneath the deck. If you find it absolutely necessary to intrude so, the least you could do is kill that stupid rodent digging holes all over the yard.

you’re making me consider getting a dog