A Note to my Daughter's Kindergarten Teacher

Dear Mrs. L:

Thanks so much for the packet of papers welcoming us to your class. By now you might have finally sorted through all the information you requested from your students and their parents. But I can do the math and know that six pages times nineteen students is…is…well…a lot of papers to read. Here’s some more information I thought you might need.

On the form asking for volunteers, I offered to buy extras for the room as needed. No problem. I make it to Target at least once a week, so provided I remember to write down what you need, remember to put it in my cart, remember to set it aside so that a child doesn’t make off with it, remember to put it in my daughter’s backpack, that should be no problem.

I notice that I can’t send in home-baked items for parties. Darn. Your loss. Yes, ma’am, I’m well aware that children have food allergies and you really can’t take chances, but my cookies are the bomb! Just ask my daughter. Besides, I never bake with peanut butter or put nuts in anything. I’m probably a safer bet than Kroger’s bakery in that regard. I know. Rules are rules, so I’ll let it go.

I didn’t sign up for cafeteria helper. No, thank you. Light my hair on fire and toast marshmallows on my smoldering scalp instead. Please. I don’t like a lot of noise, and my children have long ago forgiven me of my absence in the lunchroom. I know some parents have lunch with their kids on a regular basis, but not I. Sorry. I’m sure therapy is just around the corner for my three kids, but it’s a chance I’ll take. They know I love them. Just not all their noisy friends who eat with their dirty little hands and chew with their mouths open.

I will happily come in and read to the kids. Better yet, let me bring in my own books. I have quite a collection. If I do have to read yours, I must warn you I have mastered the art of skipping pages. Rarely do I get busted for it. Especially if it’s a Dr. Seuss book. The man was a genius but had a tendency to ramble. If you don’t agree, try reading “A Wocket in My Pocket” without a glass of wine first. It’s a doozy.

I must also warn you about my daughter. She’s an absolute joy, but she also has two teenage brothers. Go ahead. Giggle. Everyone else does. She might not know all the Raffi songs her classmates do, but she can sing every line of “Taylor” by Jack Johnson and “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz. Also, if you need to know all the verses to “The Diarrhea Song,” she’s your go-to girl.

While other children might politely tell you that they need to go poop, she’s been known to say she needs to take a dump. I know. I’ve tried to correct her, but it is what it is. I pick my battles; you are free to pick yours.

In closing, I need to say thank you for embracing such a noble challenge. I wouldn’t trade places with you even if you stripped me naked and promised me the cast of Ocean’s Eleven as a blanket in return. You’re my hero. Just please don’t expect me to be your room mother.

Sincerely,
Mia’s mom