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.

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.

My mom delivered . . . for once

As promised, I was treated to a very special, all eyes on me day at the zoo last weekend. I won't get into the fact that it took an hour and a half to get there because, technically, construction on the El isn't my mom's fault.

When we finally arrived, we started at the farm portion of the zoo. Underwhelming. The big attraction at the farm is that you can touch the animals.  Gross. I let my fingertips skim a goat's hair. He was weird. It was weird. I won't be doing it again. When given the option to feed a cow and pet her nose, I just told my mom to take my turn for me.

Huhrumph!

I spent the majority of my time at the farm telling my parents how much I wanted to visit the bears. We eventually made our way to see them. There was a sleepy sun bear, who was nothing to write home about.

Then, I saw him. The polar bear. He was amazing. He splashed. He dove for a big rubber ball. He even got out of his pool to poop on the faux rocks in his environment. Bears are the best. Bears are smart enough to know that you don't poop where you play. Let's see how long it take The Mare and Piglet to figure that one out!

Peas and Carrots

You've been warned.

For the record, Miss Nydia is a total rat. Yesterday at pickup, she told my mom that I've been hitting. More specifically, she told my mom that I've been walking around the playground saying, "Smack, smack, smack," telling future victims, "I'm going to hit you," and then following through with my threat. Whatever. If you don't want to get hit, get out of my way. You've been warned.

Miss Nydia's photo from
the learning center's composite

My sucker mom thinks this is a cry for positive attention, since my routine has been a little off this week. She is rewarding my smacking with the promise of a special activity tomorrow but told me she had to do "some research" and that it would be a surprise.

I have to assume I'm finally being enrolled in that Ronda Rousey
toddler training camp I'm been hinting about.

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.

My glorious reign has come to an end

I've received A LOT of mail asking where I've been lately. To put it politely, the answer is "in mourning."

You see, my family has decided to expand. I am no longer the precious baby of the family. My aunties have given me cousins.

Ummmmm, thanks?

My cousins, we'll call them The Mare and Piglet (because he is pink and loves pigs, not because he is a chunkster), are fine but they require an awful lot of attention that used to go to me.

Wow. Congratulations on learning to social smile and everything, Mare and Piglet.
Excuse me while I run to have your trophies engraved.

 

It's kind of hard for everyone to watch me bust my mad ballet skills or listen to me sing the chorus of Joan Jett's "I Love Rock n Roll" when they're feeding infants who STILL haven't learned to eat off of a plate at the table.

I guess the good news is that I'm going to have the opportunity to mold the future. I'm pretty sure these impressionable youths are going to learn a lot from me. The Mare even goes to the learning center with me, now. I am taking personal responsibility for letting her know that Miss Erica's fashion sense is NOT okay.