To the kindergarten girls of Ms. Wong’s class:
I’m writing to you because I feel the time has come to set the record straight on a few things. On behalf of mothers of sons everywhere, it is time to level the playing field, and come to an understanding.
First, I am aware that you are all graduates of the Barbie boot camp for little mermaids. Oh yes, I’ve seen the obligatory uniform requirements of Barbie lunch boxes and Hello Kitty backpacks. I’ve caught a passing whiff of the chocolate chip cookie-scented winter lip balm as I’ve walked the halls with my son. No, no, don’t embarrass yourselves by denying it. You thought I wouldn’t notice, but you were wrong.
Perhaps you were naïve enough to think I wouldn’t look at the valentines he brought home from school. Silly girls, I’ve been at this much longer than you have. I saw the valentines with the swirly letters, the princess theme, and the extra hearts drawn on the back. I took notice of the ones that went above and beyond, and taped a sucker or candy to the card. You must be feeling quite delighted with yourselves, and reveling in a job well done, seeds that have been sown.
Well listen up, purveyors of all things princess. You are mere guppies, trying to swim with big fish, junior players trying to compete in the big game. You can pack up your pink, glittery winter scarf, and cool your rainbow-sneakered heels.
The valentine under Connor’s pillow last night was, wait for it… mine!
IN YOUR FACE!! Oh yeah, um, sorry to break it to you. This might be a good time for all of us to come to some kind of agreement. If you could just cool your jets for the next
fifteen twenty years, I may just be ready to step down as center of my son’s universe, and give you a chance. Maybe.
Until then, I’ll be keeping my eyes on you little pink, frilly demons.
Your Potential Future Mother-in-Law