Hey, Mama.
Look, I know you raised three toddlers before me, and I’m sorry it’s come to this – truly, what is wrong with you – but I’ve noticed you really suck at meeting my needs in the morning. I’m a giver, though, so I’m going to tell you how to stop being awful.
I’ve broken this down by topic so your questionable brain can comprehend it better, and you can use it as a sort of reference sheet when you grow confused, which, as far as I can tell, is often.
Waking up:
Thanks for letting me crawl into your bed at 2am to use daddy as a pillow and you as a footrest. I like that. Please don’t wake me up, though. I don’t like that. If you wake me up, I will either be so fucking adorable you could cry, or I’ll behave like a weeping squirrel on methamphetamine.
I like to wake up when I wake up, which is usually 6am, unless you have to be somewhere, in which case I like to sleep longer than I’ve ever slept in the entirety of my life.
Getting dressed:
I like pants with “soft stuff” inside. Nobody knows what that means but me. I hate some clothes, a lot. Which clothes I hate changes daily, but you’ll know if I hate it because when you try to put it on me, I will throw myself onto the ground with my face on the carpet and bottom in the air. This is because your sartorial choices are so awful they cause me physical pain.
Like bowel cramps. That’s why I’m writhing.
Also, the person I want to get me dressed is whoever isn’t available. Daddy is at work, you say? Well, he’s who I want to dress me. Since he’s not around, I will refuse to get dressed.
If not him, I want the teenager who already left for school.
Third-tier choice: The 7-year-old, because at least with her I get to laugh a lot and everything takes nine times longer than it should.
Lot of motion, no progress. That’s the way I like it.
Basically I want anyone in the world other than you to dress me because I hate you and you’re always rushing on account of your shitty planning skills, which aren’t my problem. I hate rushing. I AM THREE.
Brushing my hair:
I will never know who’s fucking idea it was to grow my hair out. What are you? Hippies? Hipsters? You’re almost 40. Pull it together. I hate my hair. I hate that you think you need to brush it. I only like daddy’s beard brush. I can’t believe my father has a beard brush.
The reason I like it is because it’s boar bristle and therefore does absolutely nothing against the wads of dried whatever the fuck is in my hair.
The best thing for you to do would be to NOT TOUCH MY HEAD EVER but look, I’m reasonable, so I’ll settle for an iPad in front of me and unbridled wailing while you attack my head with small, ineffective bristles.
Breakfast:
I hate breakfast, unless you don’t feed me breakfast, in which case I feel starving, downtrodden, and abandoned, even though daycare feeds me breakfast. Once you feed me breakfast, though, I remember I hate it.
So what’s best is that you make me food then let it sit at the table so I can reject it.
Shoes:
I prefer shoes that do not fit the season. In the winter, I like sandals. In the summer, I like rain boots. I’ve observed you’ve gotten on board with the summer rain boots but really hold fast to this “your feet are going to get cold, honey” nonsense.
Fine, I’ll wear closed-toed shoes, but only the pair that has one missing. Oh, you can’t find it? Look harder. I NEED THE ONES THAT ONLY HAVE ONE, Mother. And I need to put them on myself, which I don’t know how to do.
Jackets:
Fuck jackets.
Carseats:
Fuck those too.
Lunches:
I need a lunch like the other kids even though a wonderful woman named Amanda makes me home-cooked lunches every single day and you pay for it. And I need three items in that lunch. If I spot sweets, I need three sweets. You never let me do this. This enrages me. If you would just give me the three sugary items in my lunch, I wouldn’t have to remove the shoes that just took me ninety minutes to put on the wrong feet.
Walking:
Sometimes I will walk to the car or up to the door at daycare. Sometimes I will tell you, “My legs deflated,” and collapse in a pile on the sidewalk.
I ain’t mad. My legs just deflated.
The car ride:
I like to listen to The Greatest Showman soundtrack with my lunch in my lap, or I like to scream about how you fucked up my morning again. There are just so many details you forget. Stick to this reference sheet, JANELLE, and I’ll just sing, okay? I’ll sing show tunes and be the cutest little ratty-headed toddler in the world.
Like God intended.
You’re welcome.
Love,
Arlo
what sort of bullshit you gonna serve up today?
***
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Jennifer
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 14:10Shame on me for laughing so hard at the toddler “using” the F-word.
Vaneesa
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 14:21Love this! Can’t wait to read his blog in the future…Renegade Arlo!
Alice
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 14:45This is gold! This could have been written by my three year old. The struggle is real. For all involved. Thanks again, Janelle! You are my spirit animal. X
Joyce
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 15:09Baha hahahaha!!! My youngest is 12 and the “breakfast” guideline is still his mantra. Sorry to put a damper on your hopes that the morning breakfast repulse impulse gets better as they get older! I’m thinking when puberty hits, he may decide he’s hungry enough to eat whatever horrible thing I offer in the morning.
Andrea Vaughn Johnson
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 15:32“Lot of motion, no progress. That’s the way I like it.” LOL forever! This is still what my days are like and mine is five! You sing my life, Janelle.
Emily
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 15:37Seriously, I love you. Some mornings bring me to tears… it’s awful, but great to know it’s not just me.
Kelly
Wednesday, 7 March, 2018 at 16:37Amen!
Marisa Aalfs
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 15:41Yessssss! When I unbuckle my 2.5 year old from his car seat, I must go back to my seat, so he can climb on me, and out my door. If we don’t discuss it first, and I do something out of order or forget something, I will have hell to pay.
Melanie Murrish r
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 2:17????
Tiffiny Schwartz
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 16:36You’ve captured my morning nightmare…..er routine with my 4 year old. I’m sure you have hopes of possibly outgrowing this. Sorry about that. ????
Jen Olden
Wednesday, 28 February, 2018 at 19:06OMG, you are hilarious and on point. My three year old must wear mismatched shoes, a cape, shorts with pocket so he can steal shit from day care (this is true), and a shirt with buttons so he looks like his daddy. Sounds reasonable and fun except this outfit is non-negotionable. If he does not wear this precise outfit, he will writhe around on the wood floors for days. It’s aging me.
Michaela
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 2:02???????????? ‘i ain’t mad. My legs just deflated’! Top notch hilarity (and i don’t even have toddlers anymore).
Amy
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 5:25I know You aren’t looking for suggestions….. but…. do you have the “wet brush”? It’s been a lifesaver at my house!
Whoever named the “terrible twos” never had a three year old!!!
Lara Lacombe
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 14:03Yaasss—it was a game-changer for us!
Wendi @ BonAppetitHon
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 6:39I feel ya kid….my legs gets deflatey too.
Cristina
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 6:59Thank you Arlo for your insights on the toddler life and how difficult it is (LOL!). I just have a question, when do you think the waking up part at 6 am is gonna stop? My son is 7 and he still does this on the weekends, ypu know the days when i DONT have to wake up early…
Nicole
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 11:20Ohhhh. It stops when they turn twelve and want to wake up at 3pm instead. Smh…
Julie
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 8:39This age is pretty nutso. My almost 4yo has worn his Christmas penguin or elf flannel onesie almost every single day for 6 weeks. Some battles are just not worth fighting. Is fabric covering his body? Check. Is he happy? Check. His teachers at daycare think it’s damn hilarious and applaud me for not giving a shit. Plus bedtime became a lot easier.
Dava
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 11:30Oh my god, the pants with “soft stuff” inside. My three-year-old son also has a thing about “soft pants” and to him the opposite of soft pants are “cold pants.” I’ve taken to warming up all “cold pants” with the hairdryer before trying to put them on him because I know that if I don’t he’ll just refuse pants altogether, but I also know that warming them up is totally bananas so there’s that.
Evidence: https://www.instagram.com/p/Be-ugvKFK3w/?taken-by=davamane
anna
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 22:10That’s just super sweet. I’m 34 and I would love it if someone warmed up my clothes for me. Fuck cold pants!
CJ
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 20:29Threenagers. What are you going to do? And my 11 year old will still only wear “soft pants”. Ugh!
anna
Thursday, 1 March, 2018 at 22:10Way way to much of my life was spent looking for shirts with no seams because my first daughter didn’t like tags, seams, those weird big prints that change the texture on the inside. Oh and she was anti jeans for like 10 years. Soft everything. I literally considered autism till a friend pointed out she was just a hyperactive sensitive kid.
Margaret
Friday, 2 March, 2018 at 7:32The section on getting dressed is 100% my life right now. Why are little boys so weird about pants?!
Claudine
Saturday, 3 March, 2018 at 19:22Little boys. Big boys. They all hate pants. My 16 year old’s motto is “pants are prisons for legs”. Leg jail. This is what I’m dealing with.
Emily
Wednesday, 7 March, 2018 at 7:29“Lot of motion, no progress.” That is so on point, I think you owe my 4-year-old royalties.
Emily
Wednesday, 7 March, 2018 at 7:34Oh, and our only difference is, he loves his long hair. Still hates the brushing. But the kids go to a hippie school, so we don’t bother with it any more than we have to. Half the kids there have blue or purple rats’ nests on their heads.
Kara
Thursday, 8 March, 2018 at 15:36OMG, love this! So funny and so true…
Melanie
Thursday, 8 March, 2018 at 16:29Every goddamned morning. Standing in solidarity with you.
angie thomas
Friday, 16 March, 2018 at 3:26I am literally crying laughing at 6am… I live in this special hell too. OMG!!! Three was the magic number for my girls who are almost 13 & 8…age 3 is just nuts for this insane dictator late in life toddler boy. We are almost to age 4…please for the love tell me it gets better; I’m too old for this crap! Why does it every tiny detail matter so much. Solidarity… love your blog!
Jessica
Monday, 30 September, 2019 at 20:37Lol no jackets…”pretty girls don’t wear sleeves”…it’s not just boys 😉