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.

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.

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!

Message received, Mackenzie

When most see a fellow two-year-old having a rough drop off, they try to help. They offer a toy, a snack, or a hug. Mackenzie is clearly out to set herself apart from the rest.

I didn't sleep well last night and was disinterested in letting my mom go when we arrived at the learning center. Breakfast was being served at a big, open table where only one kid, Mackenzie, was sitting.

My mom suggested that I could sit by Mackenzie and have a snack. It was worth a try. As soon as I sat down, though, Mackenzie stood up and moved one chair away. Naturally, I got up and moved closer to her. She stood up and moved away again. So, again, I got up and moved closer to her.

After one more attempt, my mom suggested that it might be fun just to sit at the same table as Mackenzie, even if we weren't right next to each other. My mom and I have a very different idea of fun.

Phony

Because no one else does, I will admit that there are things I say to make my parents feel better about themselves. I don't want them to feel like total failures.

Even though I scream for 45 minutes straight during swim class and beg to go home, I spend the rest of the week really talking it up so my mom doesn't get discouraged. Saturday from 10:00 to 10:45 is my nightmare but I give glowing review of splashing, bathing suits and my three swim teachers the other 10,035 minutes of the week. My parents worked hard for the $30 they pay the park district and I want them to feel like they're really getting their money's worth.

The latest truth I'm bending is how much I love my big girl bed.

Cool look. Could we try to add a few more pieces of furniture to my room?
Maybe there's a college kid who doesn't need his wooden spool table anymore.

First of all, the headboard and footboard haven't even arrived. Only a box spring and mattress separate my delicate frame from the floor. So, when I say that I think it is "beautiful", please understand what I mean is "white trash".

Secondly, I am what you would call a high energy sleeper. I like to move, put my feet up on the wall and roll around. You get the idea. There seems to be a design flaw in my new bed that allows me to fall out. My mom can surround my bed with all the pillows and extra mattresses (see what I'm saying about white trash?) that she wants, but they don't alleviate the shock of being woken at 3:00 in the morning by a jolting fall.

Last night, my mom tucked my quilt in between my mattress and box spring so that I couldn't move. What kind of Clockwork Orange bologna is that? I mean, sure, I made it in the bed for 10 and a half hours but at what cost? I woke her up at 5:59 - one minute before her alarm was set to go off just to reminder my mom who's really running this show.

When she came in to get me, my mom asked, "Did you sleep well last night, Bear?" I told her, "Yes," grabbed my monkeys and ran from my room to the comfort of the kitchen as fast as I possibly could.

Is this the face of a child who slept well last night?

 

I'm watching you, MacKenzie

Miss Susan might have missed it but I didn't.

It wasn't cool to take the drum Kendall was playing with while Miss Susan set up our apples and Cheerios this morning and it certainly wasn't cool to pull her hair and run away with said drum while Kendall rolled on the ground crying. Don't you know her hair has enough problems without your help?

Miss Susan thought she was dealing with a simple sharing problem and thought she was doing the right thing by merely taking the drum away from you. I know better.

I saw you take the seat Kendall had already claimed for snack time while she was washing her hands, too. I was more than happy to sit by Kendall, in her new seat, far away from your end of the table.

What is your damage? Why are you picking on Kendall so much today? You know what? It doesn't matter. I don't trust you anymore. You're violent, sneaky and you can't share. I hope you and Julian have a very happy life together.

Confirmed

It is confirmed that Julian is the worst. It was bad enough that he bit me but now he's messing with my mom.

Yesterday, when she and I were leaving the toddler room, "someone" slammed the door on my mom's finger. Needless today, it became quite a production with a search for a first aid kit and some less than delicate crying from me while I waited for the whole thing to be over.

We didn't see who the culprit was, being on the other side of the door and everything, but one of Nia's moms was certain that Nia did it. It seems that Nia has been pretty excited about slamming doors at home lately. Of course, that's not enough evidence. We all love slamming doors. Slamming doors is awesome!

Today, Nia's mom went as far as asking Nia to apologize to my mom but Miss Susan stopped her and told her it wasn't Nia's fault and pointed at Julian. Well done, Julian! You are officially on my list.

You do NOT want to be on my list*

This is strike two and I will not tolerate this kind of attack on my family. He might be twice my size and have enough curly hair in his mullet to be a member of Menudo but I will not be intimidated by this bully. I'm scheduling a pow wow with McKenzie and Nia (my brute squad) at naptime to develop a plan. If nothing else, I am immediately discontinuing crayon sharing with Julian during art.

And you can forget about sitting next to us during circle time!

*For legal purposes, I need to make it very clear that this is not a threat of violence or death threat against Julian.

Maybe no one said the word "bully"

but I think we all know that's what Miss Erica was trying to call me at parent/teacher conferences last night.

I couldn't believe my ears when she told my mom that I have been hitting the smaller infants in our room and sitting on them. There was no way I could defend myself given that my mom caught me pushing Annabelle off a music stool and taking over the mini piano that very morning. So, I guess I'm busted.

But, could I just take a brief moment to defend myself? Okay, okay, I know it is wrong to hit. I know I'm bigger than pretty much everyone but Conor. I know I wouldn't like it if someone did those things to me.

Here's the thing, though. Someone did do those things to me. Have you not heard of Mackenzie or Julian? This is a rite of passage. I was led to believe that the big kids are supposed to pick on the little kids.

I'm not going to throw an ugly accusation like "hazing" around, but let's be honest; we all have to pay our dues. It makes us stronger. It makes us bond. After a little crying, Annabelle and I are closer than ever and she knows that I get first dibs on the music stool.

If Regina George and Cady Heron can make it work,
I'm fairly certain Annabelle and I can, too.

Maybe I need to work on my intimidation tactics. Maybe an infant who is secure in her seniority doesn't have to be so forceful. I will focus on honing my skills over the next few weeks so that I really leave my mark on the newbies before my transition to the toddler room in December.

The people have spoken

And they want their babies and kids to have organic food. The learning center is addressing the request from several parents to start offering organics.

Since I'm in the infant room, my mom has been bringing my food and organic milk all along [apparently, she doesn't want me to get my period (whatever that is) before I start kindergarten] but I'll admit that I was concerned about the plebeian meals I would be served in the toddler room.

Today, my generation can look at our future with confidence and know that we have options for a brighter tomorrow.

I can't be certain, but I suspect all of the adults I know
have been pretty worked up about menu vote 2012.  
Glad we got that all sorted out.



Fall is finally here!

According to every adult I talk to, autumn is the very best season to live in Chicago. Personally, I wouldn't know. I spent most of my first and only autumn swaddled on my mom's lap watching her boyfriend, Billy Bush, dissect Kim Kardashian's divorce with Kit Hoover.

It's gross.

 
This fall is going to be different, though. I have big plans. Just one month from today, I am going to be one year old and I'm taking autumn by storm.

Of course, there will be the dinosaur themed birthday party but I'm looking forward to hosting an event for the presidential election on November 6, too. The majority of the returns should be in before I go to bed at 7:00, right?

I'm also going to entertain several visitors throughout the season and sample some new cuisine with my guests. To protect their privacy, I won't get into specifics but let's just say a few sets of grandparents and an aunt or uncle may or may not be making an appearance.

Finally, being completely over the summer festival scene, I'm excited to explore the fruits of fall at the upcoming Apple Fest and Harvest Days.

In my downtime, I plan to pour over September Vogue and dream of the future, when I'm allowed to wear boots and watch serious movies, which I'm told are the real highlights of autumn.

Sweater cape? Check. Dinosaurs? Check check. Ready for fall? Super check.

We are the 99%

The NATO Summit in Chicago this weekend has brought innumerable protesters to town. To show solidarity with our brethren on the streets, those of us in the infant classroom decided we would all have a simultaneous breakdown at 5:15, when our parents came to pick us up from the learning center.

Much like the protesters downtown, our message wasn't completely focused. I was protesting my recently extended tummy time. Molly was protesting that she was forced to wear pants, instead of dresses, while she learned to crawl. Ben was protesting the lack of backup pacifiers in the classroom (duh). Stupid Connor was protesting the extra 'n' in his name. I think Annabelle just wanted to get out of the swing but she might have needed a diaper change.

I deserve so much better than this!

Also like the NATO protesters, our voices went pretty much unheard. One by one, we were shuttled off by our parents with the promise of snack time or a fun weekend when we got home, as if they think they can hold us down forever with Cheerios and sunny trips to the zoo.

Farewell, Mackenzie

Today was Mackenzie's last full day in the infant room. She begins her transition to the toddler room (gross) on Monday. As she moves on to the next phase in her life, I find myself reflecting on our relationship.

When I first met Mackenzie, she seemed very cold. She was already crawling and much more interested in playing with the likes of Kendall and Molly than some little 12 week old baby who couldn't even roll from back to front. She pretty much ignored me and her mom, Vicki (that's right, with an "i"), pretty much ignored my mom.

It became clear I was dealing with a couple of queen bees, here. Vicki and Amanda (Molly's mom) pretty much run the center's parents' group and it was obvious that their daughters were following in their footsteps.

As I grew up a little and assured Mackenzie I wasn't going anywhere, she warmed up to me quite a bit. When I started using the Rainforest Jumperoo and she was starting to walk, she even approached me for some eye-level playtime. She must have been babbling about me at home, because her mom finally introduced herself to my mom (nice manners) and started warming up, too. It turns out that Vicki is really friendly and must have just been too busy to say "Hi" (for six weeks).



The Rainforest Jumperoo - bringing infants together one bounce at a time

In the following days, Mackenzie showed her approval by taking my bag from my cubbie, trying to walk off with my bottles and stealing my mom's shoes every day at drop-off and pick-up. It was clear that my mom and I were the place to be. Mackenzie wanted everything that we had. One day, she climbed into my carrier in an attempt to get my mom to take her home with us. Smooth move, Mackenzie, smooth move. 

I wouldn't say that Mackenzie and I became besties, but we've certainly grown to appreciate each other and what we have to offer to the classroom.  Her presence will be missed in the infant room.