‘Pants-Free Parenting: A love letter to my child’s teacher

Filling out school forms is one of life's greatest sources of anxiety. Perhaps it's because I spent most of my life home-schooled and I still feel like a stranger in any setting that defines itself as 'school” and doesn't have my mom's couch in the corner. Or perhaps it's because I overthink everything to such a degree that even the prospect of buying barbecue sauce has me researching for hours on the Internet.

But me, I prefer to blame home schooling.

In any case, I don't know how to fill out school forms. Especially the question I was faced with at the end of my daughter's preschool form: Is there anything we need to know about your daughter?

Oh, is there ever.

Where to begin? You need to know that she believes her hair is magic. She believes that the sun will come out from behind clouds if only she sings loud enough. She tells people she is a princess and sometimes tells them that 'Princess” is her middle name. Princess is not her middle name, but it probably should be. But I would never name my daughter Princess. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

I think you also need to know that if she comes to school in a white Easter dress, I do not care if it comes home covered in paint. The only reason she is wearing it is because she is very fancy and, well, I lost that battle this morning. Just know I tried. I've been trying for the past two years and I always lose. Flower girl chic is what she wears on a Tuesday. Me? I wear yoga pants and the scent of someone who hasn't showered in two days.

Yes, she did just ask you about 'pooping out babies.” No, I don't wish to explain anything about that.

Sometimes she might talk about pieces of mommy falling off in the toilet. Don't be alarmed. She is referring to me menstruating, which I explained to her as 'bits of my uterus falling into the toilet.” On second thought, this makes it sound even worse, doesn't it?

She is obsessed with wrapping things in toilet paper, making up songs about how she doesn't want people to die and still references imaginary baby chickies. I love her so much.

But even more than all of that, what I really want to write is this: I want to be on your team. I want to help her learn everything and to love learning in the process. I will support you and buy you chocolate. I will love you and respect you, because I tried to work with her this summer on her letters and let me tell you, she didn't listen. She told me I wasn't a 'teacher.” And I am, but I'm not.

I want to write and tell you that you are part of this little village, now - raising this little person that I love. And I deeply admire you for whatever it was that compelled you to work with 4-year-olds. So more than knowing about her (I know that you will figure out all the important things) I want you to know about you, that you are wonderful and appreciated. And I thank you.