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?