First, please accept my apology for writing about you on my blog yesterday. And posting that unfortunate picture of you. (Although you did, in fact, squat in front of my in your Juicy Couture sweatpants and your butt crack was, in fact, right in front of me.) As I watched you trying to handle your son (the one my husband calls “Thug Boy”) melt down during practice, my heart went out to you. Because I have been there, sister.

I have removed the picture from yesterday’s post because, quite frankly, I would never want you to find it and sue me. Even though you don’t know my name, you could potentially come across said picture someday when our sons are married and you’re not nearly as skinny and harm could come to the 3rd and 4th generation of our families.

But I digress.

The truth, dear mother of Thug Boy, is that I was having a really terrible night last night and shouldn’t have even been blogging. You see, it was yet another night of being a virtual single mother – my husband thousands of miles away – and it just happened to be the Night Of All The Practices. And thunderstorms. And pouring rain. And a crazy dog. And bath night. And whatever else you can think of. So I took my frustrations out on you and the dog. The dog deserved it; you did not.

I realize that you were having a bad night too. Obviously being the mother to Thug Boy is no picnic. I’ve got my own problem child so I can relate. If I could offer you a little advice, though (presumptuous, I know, but I can’t help myself), it would be to recognize that Thug Boy has. got. your. number. And you have no idea.

The reason I believe this is true comes from the difference in his attitude when his daddy brings him to practice. He would never dream of telling his daddy he hates him or throwing a tantrum or screaming “IT’S YOUR FAULT” to his daddy. I’m not judging you – just suggesting you hide sometime and watch how his daddy handles him. You might learn a thing or two. Also, when you walked away from him, did you notice how he stopped crying instantly? I think that should have been a clue that he has you wrapped around his finger.

Trust me when I say that I have no room to talk. I have been the mom who told her husband he was being too hard on the boy. But I have finally learned to keep my mouth shut and learn from him. He’s a much better father than I am a mother.

Finally, for all his faults, we wouldn’t have won nearly as many games without your son. Because he is unwilling to observe the rules of the game (and the kids are only 6 so they let a lot of that slide), he has used any means necessary to steal the ball from the other team. (And sometimes from members of his own team. Hence the name Thug Boy.) But it’s that kind of aggressive play that lands you in the pros. Or in jail. Good luck with that.