Dear Hamlin,


My sweet boy.

It’s a good thing you are so cute because your newly acquired expertise in stool usage is going to drive me nuts. We have limited storage now that is out of your reach so I have to prioritize the things to put in the “way up high safe from Hamlin zone.” Knives, glass, poison, and things that  stain are at the top of the list. I thought a plastic bowl with a tiny bit of left over peanut butter, an unopened applesauce, and a salt shaker were of a lower priority.

I was wrong. You demonstrated that all over our brand new couch.

I have mad respect for your resourcefulness and climbing skills. Really, I do.

I also love your willingness to try new things.

How did that toilet brush taste? And the dog food?

It’s good to be adventurous. Really, it is.

These are characteristics I want you to have. I want you to be curious. I want you to experiment. Some things will be great, better than you expected. Others will be more along the lines of the toilet brush.

If you want something, figure out how to get it. But maybe there’s a better way to reach it than stacking a step stool on top of a milk crate.

Just a thought.

I know you are tough, my sweet boy. But you don’t have to prove it by taking down and pinning to the floor your biggest brother or seeing how many times you can bump your head in one day.

I hurt when you hurt.

I love that you are resilient. Really, I do. But maybe you could be a little more affected when I say the word “no.” But not too affected. Just enough to stop running away from me when your holding a sharpie without a cap.

I love you, my sweet boy. I love you in direct proportion to my level of physical exhaustion at the end of each day.

Really, I do.


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One Response to Dear Hamlin,

  1. Esther says:

    Aww! Sweet Hamlin couldn’t be guilty of doing those things!

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