Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself: An Open Letter to Fellow Preschool Parents

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Shalom, Preschool Parents!

Please allow me to introduce myself. No, I’m not one of your child’s teachers nor an administrative support staffer – quite the opposite. Nay, I am but a fellow parent with the need to go ahead and lay it all out there. Clear the air. Slice the turkey. Is that a thing?

Okay, let’s get right to the point: I am a hot mess. Not the cute, ironic hot mess. I am an actual hot mess. It’s 102 degrees outside and I am very sweaty. I likely have not showered today.  Or yesterday. It’s whatever.

On most days, you might find me running into school as you are calmly walking out, 15-20, I mean-- just a few minutes after drop off has ended. I’m punctual in my heart, but not in my life. I’m praying through it.

I’ll almost certainly be dragging one of my twin boys by his backpack as the other tries his darndest to run into the street, all with a gigantic baby on my hip. No, she’s not two-years-old, just fluffy. No, she’s not a boy--  she just had a blowout in the car and the only thing I had was this-here Batman shirt of her brothers’. Yes, she can wear a 2T shirt. Please see “fluffy” above.

Sometimes, we have additional kiddos tagging along for days or months at a time. You’ll get used to it. You never know what kind of menagerie might pop out of this here clown car. Prepare to be amazed!

Simply avert your eyes if you are blinded by the grease in my top knot - wait, I mean- my ultra-shiny and fashionable top knot.  Also avert your eyes if my entire head is white. It’s all good! No pre-menopause here. I just forgot to brush out that whole can of dry shampoo I sprayed up there.

Is that a granola bar stuck to my butt? A coffee stain on my pants, or even my baby’s shirt? Very likely. But fear not! It wasn’t hot. It never is. Each cup of coffee is reheated a minimum of 17 times before it actually hits my lips.

[Yeti, if you’re reading this, please rethink your target market. Consider hitting up tired moms instead of hunters and stuff. Do you know how many times my coffee cup sees the inside of a microwave each day? Probably the same number of times my kids ate pasta for dinner last year. So like, the highest number possible.]

Am I wearing workout leggings? You betcha! Do I plan to work out after this? Hellz to the no. I would rather go to war naked than run on purpose. Here’s a fun fact for you: this here mom bod hasn’t seen the inside of a gym since 2014. Cardio is important, you say? It’s cool, bro. I chase twins. I digress!

Is one of my kid’s shirts on backwards? Shoes on the wrong feet? I can assure you, it’s been a whole thing this morning. We fought it out. Guess what? I didn’t win. Picking my battles, friend.

Now, if you don’t see me in the hall, you might see me knee deep in my rolling crap wagon, looking for the shoe or cup that has somehow disappeared in the last 7 minutes. Please do not be alarmed – but also, please don’t get any closer. You can’t unsee the things in my floorboards. I heard that Toby’s mom has her Jag detailed once a week, but this house is on a budget and this van hasn’t seen a vacuum since the day I drove it off the lot.

But here’s the thing: yes, our lives are insane. Yes, I could maybe stop investing in dry shampoo by the case. But, I love my kids. We thrive in full chaos. We’re not disorganized; we are fashionably late! My kids are ahead of their time! Or something like that. So thank you for loving us as we are. I promise to always turn the other cheek when you pick up your kids with yesterday’s mascara pooled under your eyes if you can do the same.