Dear Little Red,
Son, I love you dearly. I really do. I miss you something fierce while I am working all daggum day. I so look forward to picking you up and kissing you all over your sweet little cheeks, but while I am cooking dinner I really just don't need your help.
You can play with toys, watch a movie or color a picture. Seriously, don't worry about me, I've got it all under control (sort of). You should just chill and be a little boy and do fun stuff. I am seriously concerned for your well-being. This week alone you have almost burned your hand on the stove, smushed your finger with the can-opener and been nearly stepped on multiple times. It just isn't safe, kiddo. As Daddy will tell you, being in the kitchen with me is dangerous to begin with, but these days I am throwing together super quick meals at break neck speed and I am afraid for your health and my sanity.
The day will come when you will do all the chores you can handle and I will be glad for you to cook me dinner any night, but for now I can handle it myself, thanks. The more in my way you are the longer it takes me to cook, which takes away from our play time.
Hugs & Smooches!
P.S. It would also be ok if you stopped coming to the bathroom with me every time I have to go.
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