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.