Not to yell “Mom, I can see your cha-cha!” in the American Eagle dressing room.
That when he grows up it’s his job to keep gas in his wife’s car.
But that if he wants to marry/sleep with/have kids with a dude, that’s totally cool with me as well. In which case it’s his job to keep gas in that dude’s car.
To brush off his kiester after he gets out of the sandbox.
To start every request with “Dear Mama”. And to later in life write me a hip hop ballad of the same name.
To share with his sister.
To put the toilet seat down.
That some people have two mommies.
To say “please”, “thank you”, and “May I please be excused?”
To clean up after himself.
To do laundry.
That sometimes it’s necessary to belt out “OH CAT VOMIT, OH CAT VOMIT” as loud as you can while you drive to preschool, just to break up the day.
To be kind to small things and people.
That when some kid tells him that his hat is ugly that it’s just because they are jealous and anyway that’s impossible because it’s a very cute hat plus he is the most beautiful wonderful handsome child in the entire universe, so any hat he wears is automatically the most adorable hat in the world.
That we don’t say retarded.
To love the ocean.
That loud toilets can’t hurt you.
All the words to “The Chattanooga Choo Choo”.
How to fish, canoe, and tell when a tomato is ripe.
That no one’s allowed to touch your dingle. Unless you’re in a committed loving relationship. Or drunk and in college and I don’t have to hear about it.
How to con Mr. E into going to Dairy Queen. Again.
To always say thank you for a present, even when you don’t like it and already have one.
That there’s nothing he could ever ever ever do, nothing in the entire world, that could ever make me stop loving him.
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