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.

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.

 

I don't pretend to be a bear of the people, but I do try to be a bear for the people.

This morning, when my mom was getting me settled in my chair for second breakfast, Maximus's (I kid you not) mom was walking out of the infant room. She looked at me and said, "She is just so cute!"

 

Then, she stopped, looked at Ben, Annabelle and Miss Susan and said, "I mean they're all cute" and whispered, "But she is just SO cute!"

 

Miss Susan laughed a little and said, "Yeah, she's very popular."

I took the compliment with a blush. Being this modest can be tiresome.

With this as your standard,
it's no wonder you think I'm cute.

 

 

Happy birthday, Addy

Let me be the first to say that Addy knows how to party. She turned two this week and hosted a killer Yo Gabba Gabba themed event in the toddler room.

She started with vegan cupcakes. 

A true lady knows when to wait and when to hogdog.

Then, she threw in the most amazing goodie bag I've ever seen in my life. Not being allowed screen time, thus never having seen Yo Gabba Gabba, I had to do a little research on the cracked out characters when I got home, but still, pretty amazing. Despite what the available marketing materials would have you believe, Yo Gabba Gabba isn't actually terrifying.

There was a coloring page. There was a box of animal crackers decorated to look like DJ Lance Rock's boom box. There was a pretzel rod dipped in red with a white dot on it. There was a ring with Toodee's face on it and an actual plush Toodee. I have taken my Toodee doll with me everywhere this week. I will not be separated from my Toodee.

 

I like that Toodee is too cool to stand next to the
rest of the Gabba crowd. I feel you, Toodee.

Is it a little awful that I'm somewhat glad Addy will have moved out of the toddler room before my next birthday, though? There's just no way I could come close to this level of party. I would just hate to disappoint everyone.

PJs in the PM only, please

I've mentioned my love for the park before. It really is just a fantastic place to relax and meet and greet. Lately, I've been so excited about the park that I've been waking up early on weekends in the hopes that my mom will give me breakfast and take me directly there.

Thus far, my plan has worked. Of course, my mom doesn't just let me have my bottle and wheel me over to the park in the footie pajamas I wore the night before dribbled with whatever didn't make it to my mouth. You know why? Because we have a little something called class.

Yesterday, my mom and I decided to go to the bigger park at the center of our neighborhood, rather than the one closest to home. There's a little more shade, a sprinkler for hot days and better people watching in general.

I was pretty impressed by the mom-covery on the woman next to us with her two daughters but that was pretty much where the adoration ended. She, her mini-me five year and her two year old (who totally had hand, foot and mouth disease and should have been quarantined) were all still in their pajamas. It was clear they hadn't brushed their hair or teeth yet, too.

Cool look, kid. Are you headed to brunch at Bistro Campagne when you're finished swinging?

Look, we're all excited about the park. We all want to beat the rest of the neighborhood to the choicest swings. We all know that after 10am, it is going to get too hot to hang at the playground. But we're trying to have a society, here.

I'm not asking anyone to put on makeup or even shower, but I think something besides oversized flannel pants with cows jumping over the moon might be in order in public. Personally, I plan to save that look for 2030, when I'm a college freshman.

Mommy and Me

Over the weekend, the learning center hosted a Mommy and Me Day. I guess the invite list was pretty exclusive because only Nia, Stupid Connor (SC) and I attended. Miss Erica helped us make a few crafts - good thing, too, because my mom and I are not the best with a glue stick. The petals we were supposed to stick to our construction paper were so delicious that I hid a few in my chair so that I could snack on them later.

As we infants shared some Cheerios and puffs, our moms' conversation turned to our recent school photos and the most amazing thing happened. SC's mom told the other moms that her baby has the biggest, goofiest head in the whole classroom. Because my mom is a lady at all times, she told SC's mom that SC has a very expressive face but I have a feeling that what she meant to say was, "Good luck, lady. Sloth, there, is going to be living at home with you until he's 45."

 

My school photo

 

Stupid Connor's school photo



  

¿Dónde está Miss Lydia?

Miss Lydia was everything we fear about going to daycare. She was bossy and mean and sat in a chair all day instead of playing with the pre-kindergarten kids. The oversized black hoodie she wore everyday was reason enough to make me start filling out paper work for a transfer to a new center when I turn four.

One day, on my way into the learning center, I overheard Molly's older brother, Aiden, tell Miss Lydia she had a big bootie. He didn't even get in trouble for it because it was totally true and totally hilarious. My mom and I tried not to laugh, because we are ladies at all times, but we exchanged a knowing glance for sure.

Even Sir Mix-A-Lot can't get "behind" Miss Lydia.

Miss Lydia hasn't been at the learning center in two weeks. I haven't asked around about her because I'm worried that if I do, I'll jinx it and find out that she's just on vacation in Cabo or something. If I can play it cool and ride it out, I feel like I might never have to see her again. Cross your fingers, everybody!