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.

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.

 

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.

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?

 

 

 

A busy weekend

I try to keep my weekends pretty open but this week, I had a lot on my plate.

Saturday, my dad took me to Daddy and Me day at the learning center. I was pretty disappointed to see that we were the only ones representing the infant room and that we had to participate in the toddler room activities. It was pretty cool to introduce him to my mentor, Miss Miho, though.

After we did some hand print art and made a door hanger for my room, I gave my dad a tour of my classroom. As a whole, the event was less formal than Mommy and Me day. We quietly exited as the snacks were being presented.

Sunday, I started my Wiggleworms class at the local music school. I wasn't sure what to expect from my classmates, so I dressed to impress in my Diane von Furstenberg LBO (little black onesie). 

I take fashion and drum circles very seriously.

I can probably tone my outfit down a bit next week, considering Levi wore a bib all 45 minutes of class. I have no idea what that was even about. He didn't stop for a snack break or anything. I don't mean to be harsh, but it looked pretty lame. As the only girl in the class, I'll probably have to impart a little style wisdom on the rest of the wiggleworms over the next few weeks.