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What I Really Do While You're in Preschool

My darling daughter,

Yesterday, when I picked you up from preschool, I mentioned that I’d gotten the car washed, and you burst into tears. I didn’t know that toddlers could have FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), but from now on I will try to be more sensitive.

I don’t want you worrying that I have some sort of secret life, so let me lay it out for you. Here’s what I really do while you’re in preschool:

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First of all, I drive like a MANIAC. I don’t ride gently over speed bumps and I especially don’t say out loud, “Here comes a bump!” If someone cuts me off, I curse like a sailor, and I’m not talking about “rats” or “dangit.” I’m talking top shelf, A-1, make-a-rapper-proud cursing. I also might passive-aggressively slow down when someone is tailgating me, or tailgate someone driving too slow, depending on my mood. I would never play these games with you as my precious cargo, but when you’re at preschool all bets are off.

And I do all this while singing loudly to the Beastie Boys without anyone imploring, “Stop singing!”

Needless to say, I use the bathroom by myself.

Sometimes I’ll stop by our house just to watch violent television shows with strong sexual content while eating a cookie that I’m not going to share.

While I’m there, I'll take an extra long shower (hello, my old friend deep conditioner) and shave my legs while actually looking at my legs. Look ma, no Band-Aids! Needless to say, I use the bathroom by myself, double-locking the door for the pure joy of it despite the fact that no one is home.

Then I’ll go to two different grocery stories to buy ingredients for making dinner. (Whole Foods for the organic produce I buy out of guilt and a regular store for the normal stuff, like bread.) Shopping in this leisurely fashion, a little here, a little there, without stopping to buckle a slippery fish into a car seat or grocery cart or sheepishly pay for a half-eaten banana and empty juice box, I feel like I’m on a luxury trip to Europe.

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Occasionally, I’ll visit a child-unfriendly coffee house, order something scalding hot, and drink it while reading a book that’s not Harold and the Purple Crayon.

See, you’re really not missing out on anything, except maybe a cookie. I’ll give you one when we get home if you promise to take a nap right after your sugar crash.

Love you,

Mom

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