I have one of those children.
No, I mean, one of "those" children.
The one where you might roll your eyes in a store and say to yourself "if she were my child..." or "I'd never let my child do/say/act that way". I know. I completely understand. I've been there. Said that.
Pity me.
And don't judge. If you haven't had a kid like that yet, you haven't had enough kids. For every pat on the back you give yourself, you have to take credit for 'the ones that got away' too. Including the ones running down the aisles, in between the clothing racks, and otherwise disrupting others' lives.
I know she can be a handful and a half. I fully realize we should not be surprised if she comes home with multiple piercings in strange places, or dresses in black, or some other obnoxious fad of the day.
We completely understand that she can be trouble and a half, she talks back, stamps her feet, refuses to do things. Some of that I blame on still being 3. Sometimes I wonder if it could be because, while she's 3 1/2 she's the size of most 2 year olds. She has to act tough. I try and find reasons. Reasons for her to find the weak people and basically drive them up the wall, because she knows it bothers them.
We know.
But we also know how wonderful she can be. And that she's learning how to express her love. And that, deep down inside, she really does want to be good. She talks about it daily. She tries.
You can tell me she acts out and is 'rebellious' all day long. I know. I understand. It's what I love as much as what I hate. She rebels. I get it. She doesn't fit into the mold of our expectations and desires of teachers. I get it. But if you can just TRY to understand a little more. If you can just TRY not to act like she has ruined every moment of your day, if you can just TRY to work with me as I try to work with you, then we all might be a lot happier. Because, this child of mine, well -- she's my child. And for all her faults, every bit of them make her the exciting, interesting, fascinating, hysterical, smart person that she is.

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