When Georgia found out Arlo got to write directions for how to please him, she decided she wanted in on the action.
*****
Dear Mom,
When I wake up in the morning, I need you to be ready to party. Right now. As I enjoy it. I like partying. I like furniture jumping, yelling and being naked. Basically I’m you when you were 20.
I need you to make me pancakes. I like pancakes. I only like eating things I like.
Stop talking about protein. I don’t give a shit about protein. What I give a shit about is pancakes on my plate.
If you put something on my plate that I’m not sure I like, I will tell you I don’t like it and do pretty much everything other than try it. If you play a super stupid game with me I may try it. Yeah, I’ll try it, but I might spit it out. But you can’t get mad at me because you said I just needed to “try one bite.” At some point you’ll give up because I’m so fucking annoying at the table nobody can stand me.
Don’t hate yourself. I’m just better at this. I’m actually having fun.
That’s your downfall. You don’t think this is fun.
I think this is fun. That’s why I always win.
Speaking of food, I like fruit, so please mostly or always just feed me fruit. Sometimes I like chicken but I don’t like any other meat that isn’t chicken so just call all meat-like substances chicken and you’ll have a better chance of me eating it.
Chance. I said “Chance.” Calm down.
I like to do everything myself always unless I need your help. If you try to help me when I don’t want it I’ll throw a temper tantrum because I hate feeling belittled, but if you don’t help me immediately when I need help I’ll cry really, really hard because obviously you’re never there when I need you and I’m pretty sure nobody has ever loved me ever and I am a forsaken, lost child alone in a cold dark world.
I’m a complex, mercurial human you can only hope to understand.
I like doing chores that I like doing, which you’ll recognize because they’re MY idea, and I like getting dressed when I want to get dressed but if you want me to clean up a mess I made or get dressed when I don’t feel like it I just won’t do it. Ever. I’ll sit down. I’ll turn around. I’ll walk backwards. I’ll do a thousand things but I won’t do that. Why do you bother convincing me? We can do this all day.
I like swinging.
Basically I like doing things that I like. I like the park. I like swinging, and I like running. Because they’re fun.
You know what’s not fun? Naps. I fucking hate naps.
Naps are for assholes.
But if I don’t get a nap I’ll act possessed by insane demon spawn by 3pm. Not napping actually makes me more wild and unpredictable, and really quite miserable in general, but since I hate naps you need to figure something else out, maybe drive somewhere 30-40 minutes away around 1 or 2 or 3pm. Maybe I’ll sleep then. Give it a shot. But if you have somewhere to be and you’re relying on me napping in the car so I’m not demon spawn, I definitely won’t nap.
That’s for damn sure.
Why are you crying? I love you.
I’d love you more though if you’d stop letting me down. If you tell me we can do something and then we can’t, I’ll remember it around bed time and hold it against you. You know, like if you tell me I get a bath but then I don’t get a bath for some reason I’ll throw my head back and wail so you’ll wonder if perhaps I have been seriously injured, physically, but actually it’s just my heart suffering under the weight of your bullshit.
Also that one time you told me I could have a playdate with my boy T but then you cancelled because I had the flu? We need to talk about that. Now.
If you’d stop letting me down I wouldn’t have to act this way right before bed, when I’m tired and worn out because I didn’t take a nap, because naps are for assholes.
You also bother me when you fail to adhere to the random incoherent patternless rules I invent, including, but not limited to: 1.) Which days are doughnut days; 2.) Who pushes the elevator button; and 3.) Who gets the blue cup.
I fucking hate the blue cup.
We’ve been over this. I feel I’ve been pretty clear on my cup-color needs.
Let’s go have fun. Can we go the park? You promised yesterday.
It was sure cute when you tried to establish the “talk it over chair” thing in our house because you saw it in the preschool and thought it might work here. You’re so cute.
Nothing you see or read will actually work in real life.
I’m glad I’m here to help you.
Want to take a picture of me? I feel like smiling unnaturally.
smiling unnaturally
Are you in a hurry? That’s weird. I suddenly can’t move my body.
We’re going somewhere? I need to hide under my bed.
Is it raining and muddy? Awesome! This is the first time I’ve ever wanted to wear that expensive white tank dress you got me last Easter.
Just remembered, WE FORGOT TO SNUGGLE. Mama WE FORGOT TO SNUGGLE.
Let’s go snuggle.
And then, after that, I can tell you the next way you can please me.
Later, I’ll give you a big ass grin and say something hilarious, or I’ll do something that makes me seem big and growing too fast and you’ll say “Hey kid, get over here and hug me!”
And I’ll say “Sorry, mama, I gave all my hugs and kisses to daddy and his hurt hand.”
And you’ll die.
Don’t die. I need you.
At least I think I do. Sometimes. Sometimes I need you.
The rest of the time I’m wondering what in the hell you’re still doing here.
It’s cool though. We’re friends. I’m 4. I’ll be 5 in August. Then I’ll go to kindergarten. Why are you crying, mom? Why do you look at me like I’m your favorite tiny insane roommate and couldn’t take a breath without me?
It’s alright, mama, I love you too.
Wait. Is that the fucking blue cup again?
Peace out,
The 4-year-old
******
(Hey! There are 5 spots left in my writing workshop that begins next month. Get with it. Get on it.
Fuck your damn blue cup. Wait. Sorry.)
The post A handy guide to pleasing a 4-year-old appeared first on renegade mothering.