But I’m a kid. You should be happy that your yummy homemade frosting is the only thing I have on my face. I know that you can’t let me walk around wearing food. But your cupcakes are just too yummy. If you didn’t want my face covered in frosting, you should’ve had Aunt Lauren make them. It would be completely clean.
Love,
Jocelyn
Dear Mommy,
Guess what? Today I am a doggy! I have to warn you that I will be licking you, Daddy, my older sister, and the other doggy. You may find this gross, but it’s just what we dogs do. If you say “no” and “off” in human words, I will only respond in Bark—the language of my species.
The only time I won’t be a doggy is when you tell me that doggies can’t have ice cream. There’s a special provision in my dogginess that allows me to go back to being a toddler when ice cream is involved. When I’m done, I’ll wag my hand as though it were my tail, to show I have a happy belly.
Mommy, thank you for accepting me as a doggy. There’s nothing you could’ve done to prevent this transformation. I just have a very good imagination, and I’ll probably grow out of it as soon as I learn that doggies don’t get birthday presents.
Love,
Wyatt
Dear Mommy,
I know that after a long day of chasing me around the house, you were probably happy that all you had left was to give me a quick bath and then off to bed. But as you can see by what just surfaced, there’s been a change in plans. The tub just became a potty.
Please don’t blame yourself. Some mommies might worry that they bathed their kid too soon after dinner, or that maybe the baby’s got a sore butt, so the warm water helps them poop. My butt is fine, and you did wait long enough after dinner. I just wasn’t completely done pooping when you changed my diaper. I was going to mention it, but you seemed so tired, I didn’t want to make a big stink about it. But I gotta tell ya, Mommy, there’s nothing like a poop in the bathtub after a long day.
While it is yucky, there’s nothing to worry about. Even if I drink a little poop water, I should be okay, because my body is already familiar with the bacteria. But you will have to drain, wash, and refill the tub. And this time, because it’s late, I’ll only pee in it.
Love,
Roman
Dear Mommy,
I am not ready to go back in the house! I see you trying to ignore me and acting all calm and patient. But just wait; all I’ve done so far is scream at the top of my lungs. That’s a stage 1 tantrum. If you keep pretending the world isn’t coming to an end, I’ll take my tantrum up to stage 2: foot stomping and screaming. If you say, “But Sydney, dear, it’s time for dinner,” you’d better find a bench to crawl under, because you’ll then be caught in the eye of a stage 3 tantrum, which involves collapsing on the ground, kicking and punching dirt, and my patented scryming—a unique blend of screaming and crying. Stage 3 tantrums are very rare, but since I missed my nap and wouldn’t eat my lunch, the chances for a catastrophic toddler event are very high.
Your only hope of averting disaster is to let me stay outside. Even then, I’m really tired, so I might explode anyway. Actually, do we have any cookies? I’m kind of hungry, Mommy. I want to go inside and have a cookie.
Love,
Sydney
Dear Mommy,
Remember how I had a cold three days ago, and I couldn’t go to day care, and you had to stay home from your job as a parma-cutical rep? Well, now that you’re sick, and you have to stay home because people don’t buy from boogery parma-cutical reps, I am going to take care of you as good as you took care of me.
When we get home, you can just lie in bed, and I’ll make you lunch. I hope you like ice cream covered in frozen peas. I’d make you something else, but I can only reach the freezer. I’m sure if I mix those things up, it’ll be yummy.
I just want you to know that I’m sorry I got you sick, and I promise it will only happen 327 more times before I start elementary school.
Love,
Madeline
Dear Mommy,
Wait a second. This is broccoli, isn’t it? You said they were Shrek ears and that they were yummy. But I remember this stuff from last week, when you said they were called Incredible Hulk noses, and tried serving them buried in a river of cheddar cheese. I even took a bite. But then Daddy walked in the room and said, “Look at that. He’s eating broccoli.” I’m eating what? Broccoli does not sound like something a toddler should be eating! Then, after you yelled at Daddy, and I wouldn’t eat the broccoli, you ate a piece yourself and made those “nom nom nom” yummy sounds. I love you for the effort, Mommy. But face facts: Broccoli is the yuckiest substance known to kids.
Please don’t take this personally, Mommy. In a way, I’m actually doing you a favor. You’re always saying broccoli’s so high in fiber. But I am still in diapers. Do you really want to add more fiber to my diet?
As I get older, my taste buds will change, and I may grow to love broccoli. But until then, anytime you feel inspired to make me eat something green, try a bowl of mint chip ice cream.
Love,
Billy
Dear Mommy,
You’re probably wondering why I was about to climb into the refrigerator. Well, before I get into that, I want you to notice that I don’t have my shoes on. That’s because I know you have a strict “no wearing shoes while standing in the refrigerator” rule, and I respect that.
And I don’t have my socks on, either. I know you put socks on me because you said it’s getting cold in the house, and I could get sick. But then I thought about my poor milk. It doesn’t have any socks, and it’s probably very cold in the refrigerator. How can I wear socks when my poor milk is freezing? So I opened the door to let it warm up. That way the milk won’t get sick, Mommy. And since I was already in the fridge, I figured I’d have some salami.
I also tossed the jalapeño dip on the floor, because you told me jalapeños are hot. Since the doggy doesn’t have any socks, either, he can eat the jalapeños and be so warm and toasty that he’ll probably ask to go outside all night long.
Love,
John
Dear Mommy,
I understand that I’ve got amazing, baby-soft skin. But if the price of this skin is wearing this hat, I’d rather look like Nana’s neck. And the hat’s so itchy, Mommy. Was it made from poison oak? Why does it say “Lifeguard”? I haven’t even taken swimming lessons. Do you have to get all my clothes from garage sales? Daddy’s hats are awesome and say things like “I’m with Stupid” or “Free Breast Exams.” Can I also offer free breast exams or be with stupid?
But even if you got me a cool hat, I probably wouldn’t wear that one, either. I just don’t want anything on my head unless it’s not supposed to be there. If you really wish to cover me up, send me outside wearing a laundry basket or training potty. And half the reason I don’t want to wear my hat is because it’s my hat. If you said, “Atticus, you cannot wear this hat! It’s Mommy’s,” well, I’d wear that hat all day long, and there’d be nothing you could do to stop me.
Love,
Atticus
Dear Mommy,
I am so happy you’re here to witness this proud day in baby history! I have just become the first toddler to make the solo climb to the top of Mount Kitchen Table. It wasn’t easy. Several previous tries were aborted when you’d run up and yank me off of the chair that leads to the summit. You even went so far as to remove all the chairs from the table, forcing me to remain at base camp for weeks. But then you put the chairs back and were momentarily distracted by a phone call. That’s when I knew conditions were perfect to reach the top.
I know that many toddlers have tried to reach the summit of Mount Kitchen Table. Even the cat, on several occasions, has briefly reached the peak, only to have you yell “Get that cat off the table!” And to answer your question “Why do you keep trying to climb onto the table?” Because it is there, Mommy. Because it is there.
Love,
Annie
&
nbsp; Dear Mommy,
I’m glad sticking stuff on my head amuses you. I know that I still wake you up at night with my crying, so if dressing me like this helps remind you how cute I am and relieves some stress, I’m happy. And I must admit that I do look very cute. It’s not every infant who can pull off the green-stripes-with-a-single-pink-polka-dot-pacifier-clip look. But this thing you stuck on my head makes me wonder if you have an unfulfilled fantasy of being a Vegas showgirl.
You’ve got about six more months of putting stuff on my head before I start to become aware of how important clothes are. I will then drive you crazy getting dressed every morning. You’ll wish you’d dressed me in a potato sack, and it’ll be a good thing that you’ve got the little shopping cart. Because if I don’t like my outfit, it’ll be the only way you’ll get me outside.
Love,
Arden
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I would first like to thank this book’s wonderful editor and an incredibly awesome person, Lane Butler, to whom I am profoundly grateful for her unending faith in my projects. Huge thanks also to my excellent agent, David Fugate, for his subtle wisdom; and to the very gifted Nicole Ghazal at MSN, for bringing in a fresh voice and allowing me to share my life with millions of parents. I, of course, still bow to the guru, Chris Federico.
I would also like to thank Kathy Hilliard for her great promotional work; everyone else at Andrews McMeel for working their butts off to make this book great; and all the people at team MSN who graciously made room for The Family Room.
Very special thanks as well to Jessica Smith, Ginger Young Fisher, Ashley Cochran, Monika Orrey, and Sam Thorpe—for taking time from their busy lives to help that crazy kid from school.
This book wouldn’t exist without all of the wonderful families who contributed their photos. Thank you to the Chengs, the Cochrans, the Doyles, the Fischers, the Frenches, the Fugates, the Galantes, the Ghazals, the Greenbergs, the Grossmans, the Heffners, the Logelins, the Neises, the Romyns, the Smiths, the Tiches, the Wards, and the Young Fishers.
Also, huge thanks to all of the excellent photographers who allowed their work to appear in the book: Sara Benson, “Wyatt’s First Day of Preschool,” page 34; Kyle Connolly, “Concerned Kid,” page 53; Abra Cook, “Yummy Dirt,” page 42; Greg Dodson, “Shoeless in December,” page 41; Amanda Hatton, “Grumpy at the Barn,” page 50; Jorge Moreno Jr., “Couch Jumping,” page 17; Roland Polczer, “Kid in the Market,” page 33; and Laura Yurs, “Toddler Graffiti” page 29.
Let me save my absolute deepest thanks for my family: First and foremost to my wonderful wife, Barbara, for putting up with my long hours and for believing; to my sons, Ben and Seth, for being funnier than me; and to my parents and Arlene, Lauren, Jonathan, Ryann, Ethan, Ava, and Dagny; and to everyone else I have known and been inspired by. Thank you!
JEREMY GREENBERG is the daily blogger for MSN’s The Family Room. He has also written for Geek Monthly and Pregnancy Magazine, is a contributor to The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Jokes, and is the author of Relative Discomfort: The Family Survival Guide. When Jeremy’s not writing, performing stand-up, or serving as a guest on numerous TV and radio programs, he’s managing the development of his twin toddler sons, agreeing with his overworked and underappreciated wife, or dodging phone calls from his weird and obnoxious relatives. Learn more at www.sorryipeedonyou.com.
Table of Contents
Half Title Page
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
The Letters
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Sorry I Peed on You: Page 2