Dear crank and spank

One day I might not be here when you read this blog.  One day you might stumble upon this as you are researching your thesis on sarcastic mothers and the damage they do to young children.   One day you might ask why do these people know me?  Know my brother?  And keep calling me the terrible.  One day you might wonder which one of you is crank and which one is spank.  (I’m not telling you).  Anyway, how ever you stumble upon this blog, there are some things I need you to know.  I’m writing this close to your third birthday.  In three long short years, you have grown leaps and bounds. 

You are and will always be my greatest accomplishment.   I will always be proud of you.  I will always be in your corner.  I promise to listen when you talk.  To offer advice, to teach you, to love you more everyday.

I promise when you need me, I will be there.  I will run, swim, crawl to you.  I will always answer your phone calls.  Day or night, no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing, I will answer.

I promise to be your biggest fan.  I will be there cheering you on.  Whether it is baseball or ballet, I’ll be beaming with pride. 

I promise to tell you when you’ve fucked up.  I promise to help you make it right.

I promise not to be your best friend, rather, your mother.  A mother who has loved you since before you were born.  A mother who has rules and structure.   Not so much that you feel smothered, but just enough to make you a functional adult.

I promise to let you be you.  Whatever that may be.  All I ask is that you have tolerance to people not like you.

I have been talking to you since before you were born.  I have loved you since the moment you were conceived. (Don’t think about that for too long).  I have been proud to be your mother since the day you were born.  I love you with every single fiber of my being. 

Happy third birthday crank and spank.  The best three years of my life.

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