Dear Elli,
You are sometimes a drama queen. I really don't know where this comes from. Probably your father.
I picked you up after work today, and on the way home you had a complete freaking meltdown. Here's how it went down:
You suddenly remembered that you peed your pants yesterday. And you told me that I was mad at you for it. Even though I was not mad at you. I was not mad yesterday, when you actually peed your pants. And I was not mad today, 24 hours after you peed your pants. Nope. Definitely not mad. But you insisted that I was angry. And you proceeded to start sobbing about it.
Good Lord. I thought a story might help. So I told you about the time I peed my pants when I was four because I was having so much fun riding my bike that I didn't want to go in the house to pee. And I told you about how my mom was also NOT mad at me. You cried harder. My story was clearly not helpful to you.
Then, you remembered that you were mean to another kid today. You told this kid that you were planning a fabulous summer picnic and she would not be receiving an invitation to your fabulous summer picnic. You made the poor kid cry.
So I told you that kind of behavior is called being a bully and I don't like it. Because it's totally uncool to make people feel bad on purpose.
And I told you another story. About the time I didn't get invited to a birthday party in middle school and it made me cry and probably screwed me up for life because it still pisses me off when I think about it and I'm 32 freaking years old.
You started crying again. Because you only told the kid she wasn't invited to your summer picnic because she told you that you weren't invited to come to her house. Even though neither of you have any ability to actually throw parties of any sort because you are both preschoolers and you can't buy beer.
Good Lord. You're totally freaking nuts. And now I know why men are terrified of sobbing women. Because they are totally freaking nuts.
So we pulled in the garage and you started screaming that your head hurt. Well...duh. Probably because you've been sobbing uncontrollably for 15 minutes for no clear reason. So I coaxed you out of the car, grabbed my six pack of Corona, and proceeded to thank Jesus that Target sells beer.
Since we were already in drama mode, I made a huge production of placing a cool rag on your forehead, giving you some ibuprofen for your headache, and making you take deep breaths with your eyes closed while I gave you a scalp massage.
You promptly fell asleep. At 7:00pm. Without eating dinner. So I promptly put you to bed, ate your taco and your rice, and I am now writing this letter while drinking a Corona from Target.
Good night, my precious little drama queen....my reason for breathing, and my reason for buying alcohol at Target.
I love you. Even though you are totally freaking nuts.
Mom
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