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.