Dear World: I Promise I'm A Good Mother

Dear Colleague:

I realize that despite the cold spell Arizona has had recently, Baby Sylvie consistently comes to work in little more than a onesie. I refuse to take responsibility for this...Brandon is perfectly capable of dressing her in weather appropriate clothing. He feels, however, that Sylvie has enough baby fat to withstand the elements.

I could fight this battle but I would lose, just like I lost the baby kissing/baby pinching battle. Plus, if I were to actually exert the energy it would take to insist that Brandon put a sweater on our Rubenesque child, I would no longer have enough energy to keep from telling you that "supposedly" is never pronounced "supposebly."

Dear Random Man at Church:

Yes, I know my son's hair is similar to that of a old, homeless man's. Despite my best efforts, I cannot tame the monster's mane...

I have cut, brushed, combed and gelled as much as one mother can do with a two year old. Unfortunately, I cannot overcome swift toddler hands or my father's genetic gift of cowlicks.

Don't worry, I'm fully intending on taking George's do from Transient to Skinhead as soon as the weather heats up. Yeah, that's how I roll.

Dear Judgemental Lady at Safeway:

I agree that perhaps m&m's at 10:00 a.m. is not the wisest nutritional choice for my child, especially as his genetic line is littered with people who have "the sugar." Nevertheless, I think that you'll agree that your shopping experience is much pleasanter without his goat-like bleating reverberating off the canned foods.

Also, thanks to your withering death stare, I just forgot to pick up the key ingredient I need to make dessert for Valentine's Day. So, ruiner of my self-esteem and chocolate bread pudding, if you would please remove your cart from the middle of the aisle so I can push my double stroller through, I would appreciate it.

Dear Neighbors:

If you think you hear my child screaming alone in the backyard and worry that he is being neglected, please don't call the police. I promise that he is actually in his screened-in playroom playing with the mountain of toys that I have bought him out of my hard-earned guilt...I mean money.

Your benevolence in this matter will save me a year's worth of humiliation, a fight with my husband and two days worth of crying.

Thank you all for your patience.

Sincerely,

One unexceptional, but earnest mother