Update: Found!!!

My missing Darth Vader was recovered. Mr. Michael told my mom that Darth Vader was found in the bin with Mr. Potato Head and his bucket of farts parts.

Okay, whatever, Mr. Michael. I know you took him home for a couple of weeks to hang out with your Bow action figure. For now, I'll turn a blind eye, since I got him back. Don't let it happen again.



Oh, yeah, totally. I can absolutely see how
a Sith Lord could get lost in here.
 

I hope you like Jingle Bells

because if you go to the learning center holiday concert, you're going to hear it three times. Yes, it is the easiest song on Earth to remember but I know a great song about snow that I would have happily performed if I knew everyone was going to be singing the same thing. Honesty, though, song selection was the least of our problems.

In the past, the youngest kids who participated were the two year olds. This year, in a bold and brave move, the toddlers were allowed to perform. Total disaster. All they had to do was shake something that kind of made a jingling sound while their background accompaniment (a tape made circa 1992) played a short and sweet version of Jingle Bells. Somehow, they still couldn't hack it.

Gavan didn't even make it to the stage (which was really just the circle time carpet from the two year old room) before he started balling and walked away to sit on his mom's lap. She ended up getting up to dance with him. Annabelle is the oldest in the room and should be expected to bring her A game, or at least be a good example for the others. Instead, she decided to lie on the floor and roll around. Ryan surprisingly gave a command performance. Not only did he stand still and face the audience but he also did the appropriate dance moves at the appropriate time. His mom is pregnant, so I think Ryan was trying to remind her that she should still love him after the new baby comes.

The two year old room was a little more mature about the whole production. We crafted hand-made reindeer hats and sang three songs (only one of them was Jingle Bells). While I did leave the stage at one point to greet my parents, I certainly wasn't crying.

I should have known that someone as fabulous as me
could never really blend in. Oh well, worth a try.

Is that Linda McCartney I see over there?
 

By the end of the show, even I couldn't sit still.
Sometimes, you just gotta dance.

 

There isn't much to say about the preschool kids. They were "eh" for me. I couldn't tell what their construction paper hats were supposed to be and I didn't find it necessary to hear every.single.verse. of Feliz Navidad droned by a bunch of drowsy three to five year olds.

The bright spot in the evening was the extensive snack table that was set up in the back of the room. After the show and photo ops, I got to have a piece of chocolate cake AND a cup of juice before going home for dinner.

Upon my arrival at home, I politely asked my mom to put my stuffed eggplant in the garbage and give me cookies and crackers in its place. Apparently, that doesn't fly in my house, but I'm going to keep pushing for a vote in meal planning over the holiday season.

Neither shown nor told

This is my Darth Vader action figure. I'm sharing him with you today because he is my favorite character from my favorite book, The Star Wars Storybook.

His character is brave and mysterious. His action figure is tough. I have not been able to bite his head off, despite multiple attempts.

Darth Vader is the father of one of my feminist role models, Senator Leia Organa, and his dedication to his cause, The Dark Side, makes him a good role model, too. He is better than Luke Skywalker because he takes action, instead of just whining all the time. It was easy to bite Luke Skywalker's head off of his action figure.

You may pass him around and touch his cape. You do not need to be gentle (remember, he is tough). Please do not try to eat his awesome red light saber, though.

 

 

. . . is what I would have said if I had actually participated in Show and Tell. Instead, I brought my Darth Vader action figure to school, sat with him a breakfast, lost him sometime during the day, silently listened to the four kids in the Two's room who remembered their treasured items, and lied to my mom about my presentation.

Thanks a lot, Miss Nydia, for narcing me out to my mom and telling her that I didn't even let you know that I brought something to school today. Thank you, too, for not helping me find my lost action figure, even though you didn't know he was present that day in the first place.

I intend to ask my mom about Darth Vader every day until she finds him. I keep telling her that I left him in Adrian's bag but it isn't true. It's just part of the game. If you think I'll disclose his true location here, where my mom could read it, you've clearly lost your mind.

Message received, Mackenzie

When most see a fellow two-year-old having a rough drop off, they try to help. They offer a toy, a snack, or a hug. Mackenzie is clearly out to set herself apart from the rest.

I didn't sleep well last night and was disinterested in letting my mom go when we arrived at the learning center. Breakfast was being served at a big, open table where only one kid, Mackenzie, was sitting.

My mom suggested that I could sit by Mackenzie and have a snack. It was worth a try. As soon as I sat down, though, Mackenzie stood up and moved one chair away. Naturally, I got up and moved closer to her. She stood up and moved away again. So, again, I got up and moved closer to her.

After one more attempt, my mom suggested that it might be fun just to sit at the same table as Mackenzie, even if we weren't right next to each other. My mom and I have a very different idea of fun.

Making the best of a rainy Thursday

We can certainly all agree that the rain put a damper on everyone's Halloween plans yesterday, no?

The learning center had to cancel our annual trip to trick-or-treat at the retirement home down the street. All of the children cried "Boo hoo! We want to eat Werther's Original, too!" 

In the end, it was for the best. We had a great party in the toddler room (I brought the string cheese) and I don't think anyone at the retirement home would have gotten Gavan's Marty McFly costume, anyway. Annabelle was, predictably, dressed as some Disney princess. Ryan was something with a cape and fake muscles. I don't even know if Blake was there or not. Maybe he went as Mr. Invisible. I owned the day with my Senator Leia Organa ensemble.

Please, don't call me "Princess."

After school, I went trick-or-treating in the neighborhood near my dad's train station. I received plenty of accolades for my costume but I'll admit the whole night fell apart when I saw a 12 year old boy in a scary clown mask. Game over. No thanks! No time! Even after he took off his mask to show me that it was all pretend, I could not be comforted. Besides, it was starting to rain again and time to go home.

Even though I'm the one who did all of the work, I was only allowed one "fun" sized Three Musketeers bar as my dessert. I suspect my parents ate everything else after I went to bed. Kind of a rip off, since they didn't even wear costumes, but whatever.

Now, after a month of birthday parties, visitors, and Halloween, I'm looking forward to settling into a cool, relaxing November. Time to curl up with some lukewarm cocoa and catch up on all of the Dr. Suess I've been meaning to read this fall.

Two

Two isn't just the name of my favorite restaurant. It's also my new age and the number of parties I had in order to celebrate. There are so many people that think I'm worth traveling for that it took two weekends to fit them all in. That kind of thing happens to me all the time, though. No big deal.

My wish is to be awesome.
Done.

If you thought I was great at being one, watch out. This year, I plan to get potty trained, move my white trash bed off of the floor, transition to Miss Carmen's classroom, and return to Wiggle Worms. I have always believed in dreaming big.

 

 

I'd like to change my middle name to "Culture," please

This weekend, I had the pleasure of enjoying a trip to the theater and a ladies' lunch with my aunties. They insisted we bring my mom, too. Whatever. Somebody had to push my stroller to the train station, I suppose.

The Teddy Bear Picnic is billed as "a cultural experience for children 0-4 on their own terms." My terms included freaking out when I saw a man in turn-of-the-century newsboy garb enter the room with a bird puppet. No thanks! No time!

Instead of following him from the lobby to the theater, I opted to leave the building screaming and watch the other kids trot after him, Pied Piper style. I find that skepticism has served me well in life. After a few minutes, I noticed that none of the kids were reemerging from the theater and I feared the worst. So, I investigated.

I popped my head past the curtain to find Mama Bear and her toddler-sized son, Buddy, planning a delightful picnic and letting all of the kids in the room help. Well, I certainly wasn't going to be the only one left out. I gathered my aunties (my mom followed, too) and took a spot on an empty picnic blanket. It turned out to be pretty magical. I got to pretend to be a firefly AND a butterfly and at the end, I had a one-on-one photo op with Buddy, himself.

Two fabulous bears sharing one fabulous picnic.
One of us is a little less interested in having her photo taken.

After the show, my aunties (and mom) went to a local restaurant where I ordered and ignored food and was allowed to play with stickers for a full hour. Because I am a lady, I did not have to sit in a high chair. Because my mom is lame, I was not allowed to play with the Tabasco sauce bottle or the packets of Sweet 'n' Low. It was a very grown up and mature meal.

Dear aunties, if you are reading this, please leave my mom at home next time.

I believe it's time for me to fly

Ugh. Remember all of those duds I left behind in the infant room? They're all starting to age out and move into the toddler room.

After a year, I still can't tell the difference between Gavan, Ryan, and Blake. A blond boy is a blond boy, as far as I'm concerned. Wow, really? All three of you like trucks, balls, and playing in dirt? You're such creative individuals. Thanks, but I'll pass.

I was hoping Amelia would transition and save me from the lameness but, at 14 months, she still isn't a steady walker. So, it's another month with Miss Erica for her.

Meanwhile, I have to walk through the Twos room everyday on my way to see Miss Susan. I pass Ben playing with dinosaurs, Nia doing art, and Mackenzie bullying people for a longer turn at the water fountain. I miss my grown-up friends.

Phony

Because no one else does, I will admit that there are things I say to make my parents feel better about themselves. I don't want them to feel like total failures.

Even though I scream for 45 minutes straight during swim class and beg to go home, I spend the rest of the week really talking it up so my mom doesn't get discouraged. Saturday from 10:00 to 10:45 is my nightmare but I give glowing review of splashing, bathing suits and my three swim teachers the other 10,035 minutes of the week. My parents worked hard for the $30 they pay the park district and I want them to feel like they're really getting their money's worth.

The latest truth I'm bending is how much I love my big girl bed.

Cool look. Could we try to add a few more pieces of furniture to my room?
Maybe there's a college kid who doesn't need his wooden spool table anymore.

First of all, the headboard and footboard haven't even arrived. Only a box spring and mattress separate my delicate frame from the floor. So, when I say that I think it is "beautiful", please understand what I mean is "white trash".

Secondly, I am what you would call a high energy sleeper. I like to move, put my feet up on the wall and roll around. You get the idea. There seems to be a design flaw in my new bed that allows me to fall out. My mom can surround my bed with all the pillows and extra mattresses (see what I'm saying about white trash?) that she wants, but they don't alleviate the shock of being woken at 3:00 in the morning by a jolting fall.

Last night, my mom tucked my quilt in between my mattress and box spring so that I couldn't move. What kind of Clockwork Orange bologna is that? I mean, sure, I made it in the bed for 10 and a half hours but at what cost? I woke her up at 5:59 - one minute before her alarm was set to go off just to reminder my mom who's really running this show.

When she came in to get me, my mom asked, "Did you sleep well last night, Bear?" I told her, "Yes," grabbed my monkeys and ran from my room to the comfort of the kitchen as fast as I possibly could.

Is this the face of a child who slept well last night?

 

Look at that boy's head!

If I ever get over the trauma of my first swim class, I will create a follow up post. For now, just know that despite the fact I begged my mother to take me home throughout the one hour session, my requests were cruelly denied.

More interestingly and less PTSD-inducing, you should probably know that on the way out of swim class, I saw Stupid Connor. At two years old, he's looking well. And by "looking well" I mean he finally seems to have grown into his oversized cranium.

Connor Before

Connor After

Accepting that I won't be good at everything I try

I took tumbling this summer. It wasn't my greatest success story. I blame my parents for making me miss the first week to travel for the 4th of July. Because of them, I never learned how to do a somersault and never really took to any other skills. Don't even get me started on the complicated routines we were supposed to follow. No thanks! No time!

For the last class, Miss Edie, who I'm certain had just woken up at a home that wasn't her own, allowed us to do whatever we wanted. What I most wanted to do was run away from away from JJ, a three-year-old boy far whinier than any three-day-old I've ever met. I'm pretty sure JJ and his mom are going to be roommates well into his 50s. I assume when his mother passes away, JJ will pretend to keep her clothing and home for posterity but will totally pull a Norman Bates.

 

Since running away from JJ wasn't really an option,
I decided to cling to a large piece of foam for 45 minutes
and enjoy the fact that I'd never have to return to the gymnastics center.

 

Is that Alexis Neiers I see over there?

It wasn't my birthday, it wasn't Christmas, and, unless there's a "Parents Finally Wise Up Day," it wasn't even a special occasion. Yet, when I woke up last weekend and wandered into my mom and dad's room, I found a shiny new tricycle hiding in the corner.

Assuming it was mine (I'm not interested in hearing what it was doing there if it wasn't for me) I took it for a spin around the apartment. While I was forced off of my trike to eat breakfast, my interest in pancakes was short lived and I was back on my killer wheels in time to read a few books before getting dressed.

I should have listened to my gut. I should have never gotten off of this tricycle. Ever.

I'll admit it. I really felt like something special when my family finally made it outside. The sun was shining, the crisp sound of my bike bell permeated the soundscape and I was finally at eye level with the neighborhood dogs. Heads were turning. People were stopping my parents to ask where they got my amazing trike. I was on top of the world.

But, as Marie Antoinette would tell you, if her larynx was still connected to her mouth, being on top is pretty much the same as having a target on your back. Three different people tried to boost my precious tricycle on its first day out.

The first event was innocent enough. Some amateur tried to climb on while I was distracted by a shiny slide. No big deal. The wood chips at the play lot in question made pedaling impossible and the potential larcenist was removed by his mother before he could even ring the bell. Top notch parenting!

I have less than stellar reviews for the parents in the other two cases of attempted petty theft. I can't decide which was more insulting.

One mom watched as her dip kid, Ronnie, climbed aboard. She cheered Ronnie's excellent steering skills. She clapped for Ronnie as he sped up. My mom, dad and I watched with our mouths agape. My parents have manners and knew we weren't leaving without my tricycle, so they didn't say anything. When Ronnie's dud mom finally relented that it was "The Bear's turn" and Ronnie should step off, Ronnie lost it. Meanwhile, I was about to lose it right back. My turn? MY TURN!?!



This is my tricycle. You were not invited to take it for a spin.
Consider this your warning that there are no turns.
It permanently belongs to me. We are not on a trike timeshare.

Not to be outdone by Ronnie's mom, the third thief apparently didn't have parents at all. While I was on the swings at a different park, my mom saw a kid run up to my tricycle and throw my navigator, Ben the Bear (not to be confused with my boyfriend, Ben, or myself, The Bear), right out of his seat. He put his muddy sneakers on my pristine peddles and started driving away. My mom caught up to him and tried to use logic and reason. She asked him if his mommy was there. He gave a general wave in another direction. She thought that some stranger danger might scare him away, but he was fearless. Finally, my mom told him it wasn't his tricycle and he was just going to have to find something else to play with.

Don't mess with The Bear, her bear or Mama Bear

We brushed Ben the Bear off and said goodbye to the park and our innocence. Blessings and curses can look an awful lot alike when you're a toddler.

 

Welcome, Edward

Like I really believe your parents didn't name you after that nerd from Twilight. Also, could you please stop crying for your mom at drop off every morning? It's starting to ruin my appetite for second breakfast.

Barf.

Big whoop, Annabelle

I went away for a long holiday weekend and, while I was gone, you grew some hair. All of my congratulations go to you for finally getting around to doing something I managed to do before I was even born.

Please let me know the date on which I should schedule your parade.

 

Digging for gold

It was bad enough that my mom dressed me in a onesie AND overalls after Miss Susan told her I had been exploring my diaper and wiping the contents on my leg. Did she and my dad really have to add insult to injury by giving me the new nickname "Dirt Angel"?

This is the most recent photo I could find of someone almost pulling off overalls.
This guy is in a nursing home, now.

What has four legs, a shell and lives above my cubbie?

Last week during circle time, we learned about pets. Everyone was invited to bring something that reminded them of their own pet and we talked about it with the group. I live in a pet free building (good call, management company) in the city. Consequently, I brought my plush squirrel, Eggo, who reminds me of the little guy that lives in the tree outside my window, where animals belong.

I'd like to see your dog try to climb a tree
with an intact waffle in his mouth.

Little did we toddlers know that the whole show-and-tell was just a clever rouse to get us excited about the new class pet. This week, Miss Susan proudly delivered Turtle to the toddler room. He lives in about an inch of water in a small plastic box right above my cubbie. I don't think the placement was accidental. After I brought a squirrel to the learning center, Miss Susan probably assumed I needed more exposure to indoor animals. Too bad she didn't come to me for a name, too. Apparently, he will be known as "Turtle" until she can think of a name that is easy enough for us to pronounce. I would have suggested "Vermouth."

An animal inside? That's crazy!

Despite the fact that he is basically a Salmonella machine and looks nothing like the Lonesome George I was expecting, Turtle is quite loveable. He lets us touch his back (I wash my hands immediately after, of course) and he hardly ever hides in his shell, unless Julian is around. From afar, having a pet isn't the worst thing in the world.

Happy Birthday, Ben

Last weekend, I got to see where Ben sleeps and I didn't even have to be a creepster stalker to make it happen. In fact, I received an actual invitation to join Ben and his family (and two dozenish other revelers, but whatever) as they celebrated Ben's second birthday. My mom didn't even tell me about the party until the morning I was scheduled to attend because she knew I wouldn't be able to contain my excitement for more than 38 seconds once I knew I was going.

A young lady never forgets her first boy/girl party. I put on a lovely purple dress, wore my hair down, with a bow, rather than my usual learning center pigtail look and boarded the train for a quick commute to Ben's neighborhood. When I arrived, Ben was waiting at the top of the stairs, squealing my name. Well, I had no choice. I squealed back.

Ben's mom set up a killer, jungle themed event. There were inflatable animals in the living room that became our party favors. There was a water table with fishing poles on the back deck. The snacks were amazing. Best of all, we could play with anything we wanted in the room that Ben and his sister share. Every toddler knows that other kids' toys are always the coolest.

I took my two foot tiger with me everywhere for the rest of the weekend
but it mysteriously disappeared Monday morning.
I'll have to talk to my mom about that.

In a quiet moment, my mom admitted to Ben's mom that our family doesn't know any other kids and that this was the first birthday party I had ever attended. I thought it was social suicide, for sure. Luckily, Ben's mom is awesome, confided that Ben could use a few more friends, too, and suggested that we all get together this summer.

I was allowed to stay an hour past my normal nap time, but still had to leave before most of the guests. I sang Happy Birthday all the way home on the train.

I don't pretend to be a bear of the people, but I do try to be a bear for the people.

This morning, when my mom was getting me settled in my chair for second breakfast, Maximus's (I kid you not) mom was walking out of the infant room. She looked at me and said, "She is just so cute!"

 

Then, she stopped, looked at Ben, Annabelle and Miss Susan and said, "I mean they're all cute" and whispered, "But she is just SO cute!"

 

Miss Susan laughed a little and said, "Yeah, she's very popular."

I took the compliment with a blush. Being this modest can be tiresome.

With this as your standard,
it's no wonder you think I'm cute.

 

 

Dear Parents, I'm over it

I am a skilled communicator. Everybody says so. I have over fifty words, most of which I enunciate perfectly. Not only can I nail the basics like more, banana, water, up, open and Ben, but I'm able to say some more challenging words like dinosaur and bicycle, with ease. So, I'm perplexed by what had to have been a series of misunderstandings on my parents' part this morning.

After waking up at 5:50 this morning and giving them a full 38 seconds to get me out of bed before I started screaming at them, I thought we were going to have a pleasant morning. My mom read me a few pages of the 69 page epic, Cars and Trucks and Things That Go while my dad started his day. Things were going smoothly.

Then, breakfast hit. I was enjoying a nice bowl of strawberries with a side of Kix (Bear tested, mother approved), when I suggested to my dad that he also serve me some Goldfish crackers. He had the audacity to tell me that Goldfish are not for breakfast and that I already had perfectly good food in front of me. That explanation was unacceptable and I absolutely let him know it.

I didn't say I wanted a healthy breakfast.
I said I wanted a happy breakfast.

After I was removed, crying, from my high chair, I thought I might have better luck with my mom. I met her in the bathroom, where I figured we could just have some girl time and hang out but she took the opportunity to brush my teeth. My top AND bottom teeth. Who does she think she is? They are my teeth and if I want to have strawberry seeds stuck in them for the rest of the day, that's my business. Maybe I was planning a Pretty Woman and I was going to sneak away to floss in private later. I mean, I wasn't, but she didn't know that.

The humiliation hit its peak when we were finished in the bathroom and it was "time" to get dressed. Shouldn't I be the one who says when I'm ready to put my clothes on? If I want to read another 10 pages of Cars and Trucks and Things that Go, shouldn't that be my choice? And if I want to rip a page out of my favorite 40 year old book while my mom gets my shirt out of the closet, who is she to take that book away and put it on a high shelf where I can't reach it? No matter how many times I screamed "TRUUUUUUUUUUUUCK" through tears, she would not get it down for me. Is she deaf?

Looks like I'm short a Goldbug, now.

As she returned to the closet to finish the task of shirt selection (why is she so slow?), I seized my opportunity to select a pair of sandals to wear today. You can tell me it's only 45 degrees outside, all you want. Fashion is fashion and I had no plans to wear sneakers or pants. My vision today was to pull a Henry.

But guess who doesn't care about vision or my creative spirit? Guess who only gave me a choice between jeans or pink cotton pants and didn't even offer a pants free option? Guess whose only compromise was that I could wear sandals if I put socks under them?

This is quite possibly the grossest
suggestion my mom has ever given.

I had no choice. I pushed my mom aside with a firm and proud, "No Mama! Go away!" and started begging for Miss Susan. What a relief it was to finally be dropped at the learning center this morning. Sometimes, a girl just needs a hug (and some pancakes) from her favorite teacher.

Take it from The Bear and Will Smith
Parents just don't understand.
Also, is that DJ Jazzy Jeff in the blue wig?

 

 

 

Love's First Kiss

I'm sure that the Conor/Bear/Ben love triangle is getting old for my readers by now, but there have been some major developments that I would be remiss to ignore in my writings.

As heart breaking as Conor's recent move was, it gave me the chance to reflect, have a little time to just be the Bear and decide what I really wanted in a partner. I wanted someone who would be kind and thoughtful and who would at least try to impress me. When I returned to the learning center after being sick, I found those things in Ben.  

My first day back, he sat next to me, gave me a hug and fed me Cheerios at breakfast. My second day back, as his car passed mine at drop off, he threw his pacifier on the floor (signaling to me that he was ready to grow up) while pointing to me and saying my name over and over to his dad.

Finally, on my third day back, while we were waiting in line to wash our hands before breakfast, Ben kissed me on the forehead. I saw stars. I'm still buzzing. We have sat together for every meal and circle time since that moment. This relationship feels so good and so easy. I can't believe we waited so long.  

In addition to kissing and sharing food,
Ben and I also share an interest in glaring at and judging other toddlers.

A lady has "an upset stomach," not diarrhea and vomiting

Ugh. Being sick is the worst. Soiled clothing, leaving the learning center early and don't get me started on the bulimia rumors, just because I evacuated my stomach's contents shortly after lunch.

My mom got the call to pick me up at the beginning of nap time and by the time she arrived, most of the toddlers were awake, though still politely laying on their cots, listening to soothing music. The exception, of course, was Julian. Rather than respecting everyone's need to simmer down for awhile, he was skipping cot to cot and peaking in everyone's face to see if they were truly asleep. He was quickly picked up and placed in my nap crib (with recently changed sheets) so that he could be contained. At that point, he totally lost his cool and woke up the remaining nappers. Most obnox.

The only bright spot in the otherwise murky day was that I was given all the Pedialyte and Pixar I could handle when I got home. In case you were wondering, all the Pixar I could handle equals about 10 minutes of me pointing to Flick and Ada saying "Hi bug!" over and over until I decided I'd rather play with stickers.

Have you seen the first 10 minutes of
A Bug's Life? Captivating.

Happy birthday, Addy

Let me be the first to say that Addy knows how to party. She turned two this week and hosted a killer Yo Gabba Gabba themed event in the toddler room.

She started with vegan cupcakes. 

A true lady knows when to wait and when to hogdog.

Then, she threw in the most amazing goodie bag I've ever seen in my life. Not being allowed screen time, thus never having seen Yo Gabba Gabba, I had to do a little research on the cracked out characters when I got home, but still, pretty amazing. Despite what the available marketing materials would have you believe, Yo Gabba Gabba isn't actually terrifying.

There was a coloring page. There was a box of animal crackers decorated to look like DJ Lance Rock's boom box. There was a pretzel rod dipped in red with a white dot on it. There was a ring with Toodee's face on it and an actual plush Toodee. I have taken my Toodee doll with me everywhere this week. I will not be separated from my Toodee.

 

I like that Toodee is too cool to stand next to the
rest of the Gabba crowd. I feel you, Toodee.

Is it a little awful that I'm somewhat glad Addy will have moved out of the toddler room before my next birthday, though? There's just no way I could come close to this level of party. I would just hate to disappoint everyone.

Princess culture has gone too far

I have no problem being feminine. For instance, check out my most adorbs lavender flower print jacket below. The pattern is perfect with striped pants. I don't care what you say.

That being said, I'll admit that I tend to avoid all things princess. I don't know why being prissy and helpless are the same as being girlie to so many of my contemporaries. As a female who wants to grow up knowing how to tie my own shoes and balance my checkbook (two important skills for any modern lady), the whole culture leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

I could never be bothered to sit down and watch Disney's Sleeping Beauty because a 1950's film about a heroine who does nothing but sleep while she grows perfect hair is laughable, at best. So, I'm willing to admit the problem could be ignorance on my end, but Sleeping Beauty just seems out of place at the park.



Over it.

 

Listen, I'm all about expressing your personal style. It's just that a mass marketed, glorified Halloween costume seems neither personal nor stylish. It isn't exactly functional, either.

Sleeping Beauty's poufy dress hardly fits through the climbing tunnel. All of that tulle only serves to trip her while she stumbles from the climbing structure to the swings. Frankly, she's a hazard to the kids who are at the playground to run, climb and burn off a little steam from our stressful weeks.

Come to the park to play. Come to the park to get dirty. Come to the park to judge others. Just don't come to the park expecting me to call you Aurora and step aside for the princess if I was in line for the slide before you.

Farewell, my Batman cape wearing love

Conor is moving. Today is his last day. I am heartbroken.



And that's all I have to say about that.

Even two year olds need a victory now and then

Maybe there's some rule against looking put together in the toddler room. Let's just say I know Henry's preferred brand of diaper, now. You'll have to use your imagination because there's no way for me to put a picture up without some sort of federal agency investigating me.

This morning, Henry walked into the learning center with a new look. His hair was combed, he had on a shirt and a puffy coat (there's still snow on the ground in Chicago, after all). His socks were perfectly cuffed and his shoes were velcroed tight. On his face, Henry wore a defiant smile. Where one might have expected a pair of pants, there were none.

As he was escorted to the toddler room by both parents and his four month old sister, it wasn't completely clear what had gone down before Henry left the house, but it was very, very clear that he had won.

Daylight Savings

This whole losing an hour thing is killing me. I'm going to need a few more shots if anyone expects me to bring my A game to circle time.

I'm watching you, MacKenzie

Miss Susan might have missed it but I didn't.

It wasn't cool to take the drum Kendall was playing with while Miss Susan set up our apples and Cheerios this morning and it certainly wasn't cool to pull her hair and run away with said drum while Kendall rolled on the ground crying. Don't you know her hair has enough problems without your help?

Miss Susan thought she was dealing with a simple sharing problem and thought she was doing the right thing by merely taking the drum away from you. I know better.

I saw you take the seat Kendall had already claimed for snack time while she was washing her hands, too. I was more than happy to sit by Kendall, in her new seat, far away from your end of the table.

What is your damage? Why are you picking on Kendall so much today? You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't trust you anymore. You're violent, sneaky and you can't share. I hope you and Julian have a very happy life together.

Accessories are everything

You can say whatever you want about red and pink not matching. I say Coach goes with everything.

 

 

Confirmed

It is confirmed that Julian is the worst. It was bad enough that he bit me but now he's messing with my mom.

Yesterday, when she and I were leaving the toddler room, "someone" slammed the door on my mom's finger. Needless today, it became quite a production with a search for a first aid kit and some less than delicate crying from me while I waited for the whole thing to be over.

We didn't see who the culprit was, being on the other side of the door and everything, but one of Nia's moms was certain that Nia did it. It seems that Nia has been pretty excited about slamming doors at home lately. Of course, that's not enough evidence. We all love slamming doors. Slamming doors is awesome!

Today, Nia's mom went as far as asking Nia to apologize to my mom but Miss Susan stopped her and told her it wasn't Nia's fault and pointed at Julian. Well done, Julian! You are officially on my list.

You do NOT want to be on my list*

This is strike two and I will not tolerate this kind of attack on my family. He might be twice my size and have enough curly hair in his mullet to be a member of Menudo but I will not be intimidated by this bully. I'm scheduling a pow wow with McKenzie and Nia (my brute squad) at naptime to develop a plan. If nothing else, I am immediately discontinuing crayon sharing with Julian during art.

And you can forget about sitting next to us during circle time!

*For legal purposes, I need to make it very clear that this is not a threat of violence or death threat against Julian.

I dressed in the dark this morning

and I still looked more pulled together than Kendall.

The electricity in our apartment went out last night. My parents are acting like it happened to the whole block, but I suspect they are just deadbeats who are late on their ComEd bill. Even so, with no lights, pre-sunrise, my mom managed to get me dressed in clean, matching clothes, brush my hair and put my pigtails in, even if they were a little (a lot) crooked.

Meanwhile, for the third time this week, one of Kendall's parents dropped her off with the excuse that she wouldn't sit still to have her hair brushed and asked Miss Susan to do it for them.

I will admit that Miss Susan's hairdressing skills are far superior to those of Miss Alessandra and I don't blame Kendall for wanting to get in on a good old fashioned high pony, but this is getting ridiculous. Miss Susan has better things to do in the morning than fix our hair. She has to pour milk, put out the step stool so we can wash our hands and deal with annoying parents during drop off. She doesn't have time to play Truvy every day.

I don't trust anyone who does her own hair, but maybe
 your mom could help you out once in awhile, Kendall.

All you need is love . . . and snacks

It's funny how the place where you are in your life can determine whether or not you enjoy Valentine's Day. Last year, I was still new to the learning center, was just learning how to sit up (with the help of a Bumbo, I might add) and I was still taking bottles. This year, I have multiple love interests, a super fun afternoon party in the toddler room and a look that won't quit.
 

Last year: I might as well spend the day watching
Renee Zellweger movies with a 33 year old divorcee,
her cats and a tube of cookie dough.

This year: It isn't even 9am and I've already received
my first Valentine. I must be doing something right.

I selected Star Wars Valentines, colored on them and picked the best ones for Conor, Ben and my new bestie, Addy. Mackenzie got Darth Vader because of our very complicated relationship. I filled out Julian's last because I like him the least and figured he could just deal with whatever was left over.

The queen of Valentine's Day surrounded by her peas and carrots, Ben and Addy.
Photo courtesy of my mom and a set of mini blinds.

My mom brought blueberries and pineapples to the party and I was excited to see that another mom brought Goldfish crackers. I have a feeling there might be a craft involved, too. This will be the best party ever!

Guess who missed me

As my first full week in the toddler room comes to a close, there's a lot to be happy about. Most importantly, it seems that Conor not only remembers me but is clamoring for me.

Yesterday, my mom told Miss Susan that Conor and I were pals (real cool, Mom). This morning, Conor's parents told Miss Susan that Conor talks about me at home all the time. She was kind enough to share the news of Conor walking around the house repeating, "Bear? Bear?" with my mom.

What can I say? I make quite an impression. I certainly can't say I'm surprised or disappointed.

Intimidated much?

Really, Raquel? The Saturday I decide to totally bring it and wear a first tier outfit to Wiggleworms, you conveniently don't make it to class? Weird.

I saw you with your mom, dad and brother at Starbucks afterwards. You aren't fooling anyone with your phony excuses.

Dad with the stalker assist

Bestill my heart! Sam was at the grocery store at the exact same time as me last night. I didn't see him right away, but my dad sent my mom a text instructing her to take me to the dairy department immediately.

There, Mom and I saw Sam and his mom carefully selecting the same Stonyfield organic yogurt I eat. My mom made the first move, introduced herself and told Sam's mom that we know him from his weekly Starbucks trips with his dad.

I found out that Sam is just two weeks younger than me and totally into the same things I'm into. While the moms talked about completely worthless mom stuff, Sam reached across his cart and held my hand.

I almost died. It was probably the most romantic day of my entire life.

It's all downhill from here.

Just call me Al Roker

Yes, I had a blowout the first day of my transition to the toddler room. No, I don't want to talk about it.

Welcome, Miss Anne-Marie

January in Chicago could only mean one thing. My parents are starting to recycle activities in the name of avoiding the ugly truth about how cold it is outside.

I started Wiggle Worms again this weekend. Unfortunately, Mr. Jarrod isn't leading this session but Miss Anne-Marie is pretty great. One of the moms travels all the way from Bucktown just to get her kid in a class with her. So, I definitely feel like I'm a part of something big.

Thankfully, the group is 12 to 24 months - none of those babies I have to see every day at the learning center. The group seems pretty solid. Although, I have my eye on Raquel and her mom (she has a Louis Vuitton diaper bag) as my biggest competition in the room. A dress and tights at Wiggle Worms? Game on, Raquel. Game on.

A very big day, indeed

One year ago today, my mom confused the formula out of me. After twelve weeks of cuddling and enjoying Billy Bush together, she loaded me up in my car seat, brought me to a strange building, told some woman I didn't know something about tummy time and weepily made a beeline for the door. When she picked me up eight hours later, I was so disoriented, angry and exhausted that I didn't even look at her for the rest of the night. I went straight to bed. She made me do the whole thing again the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. All the way up until today.

For the record, I still miss spending my mornings with this guy.

After the first week, my mom stopped crying and I was less exhausted at the end of the day. We both started acting like ourselves again. I started making friends and she started bring home a paycheck. (About time, deadbeat. Way to get credit for doing something you should have been doing all along.) In time, I really started enjoying my Bear time. It has been good to have something just for myself.

I thought my parents would want some time to themselves
but they're always around.

Today, I celebrate my one year anniversary at the learning center with a special announcement. My transition date has been scheduled. I will begin to move from the ranks of Miss Erica to Miss Susan on Monday.

Since I've been knocking on the door and trying to sneak into the toddler room for a couple of weeks, now, Miss Susan believes that I am ready and everything will go smoothly. Miss Erica is less optimistic and keeps telling my mom that it will probably take two full weeks since I like my routine. Blah blah blah.

Honestly, I think Miss Erica is just nervous that she won't be able to handle the infant room without me. Have you seen the latest line up? Sure, Amelia and Emily are most adorbs but Ethan only knows how to sit in a Bumbo seat, you know my feelings on Annabelle and Blake and Ryan are still completely interchangeable. No wonder Miss Erica told my mom I have "the most personality of any of the babies."

Good luck without me in February, Miss Erica. You're going to need it.

Coolio hasn't looked this good since 1995

Methinks Miss Alessandra could use a new hobby. Maybe one that isn't in the cosmetological arts.


I know you're bored and I'm the only infant with hair
but this is getting ridiculous.  

Adding insult to injury - taking it out didn't seem to help much.