A mom more embarrassing than my own

As Cady pointed out in Mean Girls, the lunch room at school, even preschool, can be just like the Serengeti. It usually takes me a few attempts to find just the right seat for breakfast.

This morning, I immediately walked by the Duds table filled with a bunch of kids who are only three (gross). I saw a seat at the end of the Normals table - your Annabelles, your Mauras, your Gabriels. I thought it would do for today.

As I was settling in, though, Kendall and Sophia, my Queen Bee mentors, who are already four, noticed I was wearing a Frozen shirt and started asking if they could see it.

Frozen Tuesday is the Pink Wednesday of the learning center.

 
I hopped up and, seeing one last seat at the table, quickly thought to bring my plate of waffles with me. I was going to eat breakfast with the Queen Bees today. After a mere two months in preschool, I had arrived. That wasn't so hard.

Unfortunately, at that very moment, Liam started his third meltdown of drop off. Kid. Was. Losing it. His mom, trying to get on his level and soothe him, reached for the nearest chair without looking - right as my waffle was crossing the threshold of the chair to the table. Liam's mom sat on my breakfast. I was defeated in so many, many ways.

Luckily for me, I have two things going for me. 1) I am not Liam's mom's coat, which now has syrup on the bottom hem. 2) The Queen Bees' view was blocked by Liam's mom. My mom was cool (for the first time in her life) and quietly shuffled me back to the Normals with my plate. She whispered to Liam's mom about the syrup but no one else was the wiser. I'll be back for the Queen Bees tomorrow.

It's not a huge deal

but I was named the December Reader of the Month for my preschool classroom. Okay, I'm just being humble. It is a huge deal. 

I don't know how I won this major award, since I can't actually read, but I'll take any recognition I can get with pride.

Secrets don't make friends

Yes, I am attending Kendall's fourth birthday party at the bounce house this weekend. Yes, my mom and I found the absolute perfect gift for Kendall last night at Target. Yes, I marched right up to her, while she was trying to go to the bathroom, to let her know exactly what we purchased for her so she wouldn't have to stew in insane anticipation for three full days to find out I was giving her Play Doh.

Birthday surprises aren't really my style

Three

I turned three last weekend. As I'm sure you can imagine, it was a pretty huge event. I brought orange cupcakes to my new classroom because orange is the most beautiful color in the world and I wanted my fellow preschoolers to have a little something fabulous in their hum drum lives. I also had a blowout party (seriously, it lasted for eight hours, you guys) with the crème de la crème of my aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

If you're about to turn three, there are a few thing you should know.

Demand perfection.

If your parents ask if their silly decorations look "just like Belle's dress,"
don't be afraid to tell them, "Not quite."
This is your special day, after all.

Insist on costume changes.

 

 You're not just one year old. You shouldn't wear just one outfit.

Act like you've been there before.

 

Only babies stick their fingers in the icing before the final line of
Happy Birthday has been sung and the candles have been blown out.

 

Even though you have to invite other people to your party
AND act like you like them

 

 

 

Understand that it is really all about you.

Now, having checked everything off of my two year old to do list, I'm looking to the future. Before I turn four, I'd like to enroll in ballet, learn to write letters other than the one my name starts with, and find a way to either go to the park or play with play dough every day.

I'm pretty much a cross between Chris Knight and Jennifer Lawrence

I’m trying not to make a big, public deal about this because it isn’t polite to brag, but I have some fairly big news. I have been selected to move to preschool three weeks early. Have you heard of the MacArthur Genius Grant (you probably haven’t - don’t feel bad)? This is pretty much the same thing.

Can you read my blushing pride over the internet?

Miss Bardha approached my mom last night to tell her there is only one preschool spot open this fall. She wanted to make sure it was offered to me before anyone else. If I don’t snap it up now, no spots will be available until June. In that time, I’d pretty much rot with all the baby two year olds surrounding me.

Miss Bardha believes that I am advanced enough to move over before my third birthday. I am potty trained. I can identify at least four letters by sight.  I keep up with the preschoolers on the playground. I’m more than socially capable, duh.

If I'm being honest, I've always been big on exclusivity and part of the excitement stems from the fact that taking this spot means a lot of other kids won't get it. One step closer to learning center domination. Get on my good side now, everybody.

You will not be missed

There are friends, I'm told, that you'll have all your life - friends you met before you can even remember - friends who know more about you than you even seem to know about yourself sometimes - friends who seem to anticipate your next move before you make it. I believe this kind of friendship can exist. Which, in turn, means that photo negative of this friendship exists, too.

This brings us to MacKenzie.

Get me out of here. Get me out of here. Get me out of here.

 

Born to a politely frazzled mom and a balding dad who forgets to wave goodbye at drop off, the youngest of three children, MacKenzie felt the need to make up for the abuse she took from her two older brothers by bullying the rest of us.

She physically assaulted us and took too long at the water fountain, just to prove she could. With eyes that whispered, “I’m going to ‘accidentally’ cut four inches of your hair off during art,” she played mind games. She told us which colors could be our favorite, as she had already laid claim to purple, like if she was a Unicorn or something.

Through it all, I stuck it out. I told myself we would eventually go to different kindergartens and I'd never have to see her again. I told myself not to show weakness. I told myself I if could be strong and beat her at her own game, I could own the learning center and rule with the kindness of a thousand Dora the Explorers. I also told myself that the Crocs she wore every summer were tacky, but that's a different story.

Well, loyal readers, my day in the sun has arrived. MacKenzie's mom (and, I'm guessing, to a lesser extent, her dad) decided it would be best to move MacKenzie to the pre-k program at her brothers' stuffy Catholic school. Maybe they finally saw the need for discipline the rest of us had seen for so very, very long. Maybe they just wanted to make one drop off each morning. I don't care. Whatever the reason, I am free!

She's been gone for a week and I feel more and more like myself every day. I wear my hair down when I nap, not afraid to wake with MacKenzie standing over me, a clump of my beautiful hair in hand. I sit where I like at breakfast. And today, I proudly wore purple to school.

My mom delivered . . . for once

As promised, I was treated to a very special, all eyes on me day at the zoo last weekend. I won't get into the fact that it took an hour and a half to get there because, technically, construction on the El isn't my mom's fault.

When we finally arrived, we started at the farm portion of the zoo. Underwhelming. The big attraction at the farm is that you can touch the animals.  Gross. I let my fingertips skim a goat's hair. He was weird. It was weird. I won't be doing it again. When given the option to feed a cow and pet her nose, I just told my mom to take my turn for me.

Huhrumph!

I spent the majority of my time at the farm telling my parents how much I wanted to visit the bears. We eventually made our way to see them. There was a sleepy sun bear, who was nothing to write home about.

Then, I saw him. The polar bear. He was amazing. He splashed. He dove for a big rubber ball. He even got out of his pool to poop on the faux rocks in his environment. Bears are the best. Bears are smart enough to know that you don't poop where you play. Let's see how long it take The Mare and Piglet to figure that one out!

Peas and Carrots

You've been warned.

For the record, Miss Nydia is a total rat. Yesterday at pickup, she told my mom that I've been hitting. More specifically, she told my mom that I've been walking around the playground saying, "Smack, smack, smack," telling future victims, "I'm going to hit you," and then following through with my threat. Whatever. If you don't want to get hit, get out of my way. You've been warned.

Miss Nydia's photo from
the learning center's composite

My sucker mom thinks this is a cry for positive attention, since my routine has been a little off this week. She is rewarding my smacking with the promise of a special activity tomorrow but told me she had to do "some research" and that it would be a surprise.

I have to assume I'm finally being enrolled in that Ronda Rousey
toddler training camp I'm been hinting about.

Penis

So, apparently, boys have penises and penises are private.

This is

1. The reason I'm not allowed to dump and reorganize all of the Q-Tips in the bathroom while my dad pees.
2. The funniest thing I have ever heard in my entire life.

Now that I have this crucial information, anytime I'm in public with my mom, I make sure to ask her, "What do boys have?" Then, I laugh and laugh and laugh at her response.

Penises, you guys.

My glorious reign has come to an end

I've received A LOT of mail asking where I've been lately. To put it politely, the answer is "in mourning."

You see, my family has decided to expand. I am no longer the precious baby of the family. My aunties have given me cousins.

Ummmmm, thanks?

My cousins, we'll call them The Mare and Piglet (because he is pink and loves pigs, not because he is a chunkster), are fine but they require an awful lot of attention that used to go to me.

Wow. Congratulations on learning to social smile and everything, Mare and Piglet.
Excuse me while I run to have your trophies engraved.

 

It's kind of hard for everyone to watch me bust my mad ballet skills or listen to me sing the chorus of Joan Jett's "I Love Rock n Roll" when they're feeding infants who STILL haven't learned to eat off of a plate at the table.

I guess the good news is that I'm going to have the opportunity to mold the future. I'm pretty sure these impressionable youths are going to learn a lot from me. The Mare even goes to the learning center with me, now. I am taking personal responsibility for letting her know that Miss Erica's fashion sense is NOT okay.

Swipe-a-thon

Because I am two, which makes me a big, awesome kid, I was invited to participate in the learning center's annual trike-a-thon for the first time this week. Parents were also invited to join in the festivities, which might have been oversold. Yeah, there were streamers and everything, but the track was really just a chalk outline going around the playground with Mr. Michael holding up a stop sign when kids got mid-way through.

As you may know, I love my tricycle. I'm pretty much the Oprah of the learning center and my tricycle makes my favorite things list every year. Of course, heavy is the head that wears the construction truck helmet. Whether it really was the coolest tricycle present or whether its association with me gave it street cred, my wheels were hot properties.

I'm still new to pedaling and needed plenty of pushes from my mom but I'm also glad she was there because I practically needed a bodyguard. I had a trail of kids chasing my trike and asking when it would their turn to ride it.

Now, if I ran the world, none of those kids would have ever had a turn but, for some reason, I don't and my mom let other kids hop on and off when my interest waned. In those moments, I was torn between being sad about my loss and being excited that I had the opportunity to borrow someone else's ride.

No, this isn't my tricycle.
Yes, that is a kid with a full-on Blind Melon
Bee Girl costume under her coat to my right.

I was long over the trike-a-thon at about the 20 minute mark but pushed on for a full hour because I wasn't interested in relinquishing my wheels to anyone else. Only the selfish survive and I have to look out for the Bear.

And you may ask yourself, "Where is that large tricycle?"
And you may tell yourself, "This is not my beautiful scooter!"

And THIS I'm supposed to appreciate?

Today was the parent appreciation breakfast at the learning center. Parents were offered full sized donuts, bagels, and coffee to enjoy while their sap kids ate donut holes. Although I was given a seat and a bite to eat and asked to wait for her, I followed my mom into the office with the parents' treats.

I knew I didn't have long before being escorted out of the small room. I grabbed anything I could. My mom swatted me away from a sprinkle donut. She took my hand out of the bowl of sugar packets. Luckily, she was not fast enough to keep me from pulling her coffee off of the buffet table and onto myself and the floor. Score one for The Bear!

I will ruin your shirt, your floor, and your mood.

I wasn't burned but I was pretty embarrassed that, after cleaning the floor and returning to our table, my mom told me that I would not be changed into a fresh shirt until after the meal because I was "going to get messier, anyway".

As if she hadn't embarrassed us both enough, my mom put a cherry on top of the whole morning by congratulating the wrong Amelia's dad on the arrival of a new daughter.

By 8:00, I was over it and pushing her out the door. Hopefully, I was fast enough and no one realized she was with me.

Vacation's when you go somewhere and you don't ever come back.

Mackenzie is on vacation this week. The lady in me would like you to know that Mackenzie is, of course, very missed and will be welcomed back next week with extended minutes of cheers.

But since no one is around to take my Duplos out of retribution, I'll take off my lady hat and put on my honesty scarf (much more fashionable, anyway). That's right, I'm finally saying it. 

I'm glad that Mackenzie isn't here this week. I do not miss her. The only kids who miss her are the kids who like being pushed out of line for the water fountain, who like being told they can't sit in certain chairs at meals, and who like having their cupcakes stolen at special events, like the two year old room Valentine's Day party. In other words, no one misses her. Like, at all.

Of all the times in my life I've wished Mrs. Gump was right,
I wish she was right the most this week.

After school every day, I tell my parents elaborate stories about my day. I always include the nasty things Mackenzie did and for some reason, those dumb dumbs keep asking, "Is Mackenzie your friend?" They remind me that I don't have to be friends with people who are mean to me, but they clearly don't understand two year old politics.

I have two and a half years of smiling to Mackenzie's face left. When she goes to the Catholic kindergarten and I attend a neighborhood school, she'll be some other kid's problem. In the meantime, the best way to beat a bully is to not let the bully beat you. I will be holding my head high next week, Mackenzie. Look out!

I do "Arts" not "Crafts"

We're learning about feelings in the two year old room this week. Miss Carmen cut out some construction paper and encouraged us to make "Happy" faces.

When my mom came to pick me up, among a wall of cheesy, smiling visages, she saw this. It was promptly and proudly hung on our refrigerator.

I won't be told how to feel.