The story in my strands

Everything you need to know about my day can be told in the story of my hair. It may look like I’m innocently coloring a carrot, but if you look closely, you’ll see the chaotic strands of a child who was told she slept too late to eat breakfast at home, a child whose mother is bad at putting on tights and was (rightly) told as much, a child who would rather be wearing her dad’s flip flops right now than her weather appropriate winter shoes, a child who did not get to watch the Lion King’s wildebeest stampede in the car this morning because she (rightly) ran away from her mom in the parking garage, a child who was offered her least favorite meal of French toast (gag) when she arrived at school this morning.

This is my happy place.

These aren’t even the ponies I left the house wearing this morning. My mom set me up with two braids tied off with red ponies. It’s only 9:30, I’m on my second hairdo of the day, and it’s already a disaster.

Coffee, please.

Consider yourself one-upped

In response to Matilda’s ridiculous effort last week, I decided to bring an envelope full of Q-tips™ to show and tell this week.

If we’re going to make this thing a farce, 

let’s show we really mean it.

Go to kindergarten, already

Matilda brought a dog toy to show and tell today.

Because, of course she did. 

As my mom was leaving, Matilda tried to corner her, saying, “I’m really looking forward to something. It is going to be great.”

Unimpressed, my mom said, “Oh yeah? Cool.” And left while Matilda was talking.  

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.

It's not a huge deal

but I was named the December Reader of the Month for my preschool classroom. Okay, I'm just being humble. It is a huge deal. 

I don't know how I won this major award, since I can't actually read, but I'll take any recognition I can get with pride.

Three

I turned three last weekend. As I'm sure you can imagine, it was a pretty huge event. I brought orange cupcakes to my new classroom because orange is the most beautiful color in the world and I wanted my fellow preschoolers to have a little something fabulous in their hum drum lives. I also had a blowout party (seriously, it lasted for eight hours, you guys) with the crème de la crème of my aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

If you're about to turn three, there are a few thing you should know.

Demand perfection.

If your parents ask if their silly decorations look "just like Belle's dress,"
don't be afraid to tell them, "Not quite."
This is your special day, after all.

Insist on costume changes.

 

 You're not just one year old. You shouldn't wear just one outfit.

Act like you've been there before.

 

Only babies stick their fingers in the icing before the final line of
Happy Birthday has been sung and the candles have been blown out.

 

Even though you have to invite other people to your party
AND act like you like them

 

 

 

Understand that it is really all about you.

Now, having checked everything off of my two year old to do list, I'm looking to the future. Before I turn four, I'd like to enroll in ballet, learn to write letters other than the one my name starts with, and find a way to either go to the park or play with play dough every day.

I'm pretty much a cross between Chris Knight and Jennifer Lawrence

I’m trying not to make a big, public deal about this because it isn’t polite to brag, but I have some fairly big news. I have been selected to move to preschool three weeks early. Have you heard of the MacArthur Genius Grant (you probably haven’t - don’t feel bad)? This is pretty much the same thing.

Can you read my blushing pride over the internet?

Miss Bardha approached my mom last night to tell her there is only one preschool spot open this fall. She wanted to make sure it was offered to me before anyone else. If I don’t snap it up now, no spots will be available until June. In that time, I’d pretty much rot with all the baby two year olds surrounding me.

Miss Bardha believes that I am advanced enough to move over before my third birthday. I am potty trained. I can identify at least four letters by sight.  I keep up with the preschoolers on the playground. I’m more than socially capable, duh.

If I'm being honest, I've always been big on exclusivity and part of the excitement stems from the fact that taking this spot means a lot of other kids won't get it. One step closer to learning center domination. Get on my good side now, everybody.