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?