Tag Archives: Three years

School Daze

The Hatchling is starting preschool next week; this week she visited her class and met her teacher on Tuesday, and today there was a 1-hour “practice” session so the kids could get used to getting dropped off and the whole class routine. There were lots of nervous/excited parents and a couple of freaked out kids, but mostly it was a festival of cute. The Hatchling was very excited to get there and seemed OK when I left; I took the Sprout on a little grocery trip, and then headed back to the school to pick the Hatchling up. Got there and the classroom doors were still closed, lots of parents milling about in the halls. The doors open, and the teacher (Miss Jenny) comes out and says, “normally we’ll just send them out to you, but they’re pretty overwhelmed today, so if you want to come in and get them, you can.” There’s a surge of anxious kids out the door looking for their parental units … No Hatchling. The Sprout and I make our way into the class, and way over in the corner farthest from the door sits the Hatchling and a little boy in earnest conversation.

“Hi, Boo!” I say. “Whatcha doing?”

“Um, I’m just talkin’ about dinosaurs wif my friend, Mama.”

Well, OK then. After showing me the entire classroom and reluctantly agreeing to leave the dinosaurs and the magnifying glasses and the toy trucks at school, the Hatchling was persuaded to leave the room. On our way out, I asked Miss Jenny how the Hatchling had done. Miss Jenny rolled her eyes and laughed. “Oh, she’s going to be FINE. Totally made herself at home.”

That’s my girl.

Funny. Gross, but Funny.

So the Hatchling is, for all intents and purposes, potty trained. Which: THANK GOD, because if I’d had to keep her home from preschool for still being in diapers, we both would have lost it. But I must say, it’s engendered some interesting conversations. For one thing, poop is now, like, the funniest word/concept/joke EVAR. Asked what her baby doll’s name was this morning, she responded “Poo-poo!” and laughed like a maniac. Oh, the hilarity.

And then there was this gem: she’d gone #2 in the downstairs porta-potty, so after we wiped and pulled up her underwear, I went to grab the potty so I could go upstairs and empty it in the toilet. The Hatchling, however, was not having any of it. SHE would carry the poop. Only SHE could do it. So, okay, we go to the stairs and I have several heart attacks as she precariously makes her way up, but she does it, and then she goes over to the toilet, dumps the poop in, leans over, looks down, and says, “THERE! Now you can swim!”

I don’t even want to KNOW the mental process, y’all. I don’t even want to know.

Preschoolers: adding surreality to every waking moment.

This morning, the Hatchling was playing with a friend in the friend’s backyard, which is dominated by a very large maple tree. “Oh, wookit,” said the Hatchling, gazing fondly up the enormous tree trunk. “Monsters.

“Wow, there are monsters in that tree?” I reply. “Cool. How many monsters are there?”

“Dey up inda TREE, mama. Wookit. Dere’s some bones, and dere’s some bodies, and dere’s some healthy snacks!”

Status updates I have considered putting on Facebook today

Elise has really had it.

Elise swears to god, if she hits one more red light she is going to hurt someone.

Elise is reaching the end of her tether.

Elise would sell her ovaries for a kid who sleeps and/or does not scream at pitches just below what only a dog can hear.

Elise is about to pull a Nora.

Elise would just like to be able to DRIVE somewhere ONCE without needing EARPLUGS to block the SCREAMING.

Elise is DONE. DONE, I tell you.

Elise would like to know just who she pissed off, so she can tell them she’s sorry already!

Elise is getting her ass handed to her on a plate by two girls who can’t read or use a toilet.

Elise wishes she was handling things better. Or at all.

Daily Inventory

So far today, the Hatchling has:

1. Pushed one of her friends at playgroup;

2. Thrown sand in the face of another friend;

3. Pitched fits about various trivial things;

4. Peed through her pull-up and all over Mr. Squab’s recliner (the fourth such incident in two days).

I think the age of three is trying to kill me, y’all.

Recap of our trip to the grocery store with the baby, aka the first time the Hatchling has been out of the cart the whole time

Me: OK, now, remember, the Sprout has to ride in the cart so you get to walk and help Mama with the groceries. You have to stay with Mama, OK? NO running away, right?

Hatchling: OK, Mama. I helpa get gwocewies.

Me: Right. You help.

Sprout: A-bah.

Me: OK, let’s see what we need for fruit … do you want some bananas? (She’s only been asking for them 10 times a day since we ran out.)

Hatchling: Ummmm … no fanks. Oh, WOOK! Tomayoes!

Me: (grabbing bananas, distracted) Uh-huh, that’s right – ok, put it back, Boo. Put it back on the pile.

The Hatchling puts the tomato back on the top of the heap, and it rolls down and falls on the floor.

Hatchling: Uh-oh.

Me: That’s ok … (surreptitiously places it back on the pile) … Now don’t touch anything, OK? Just look. No touch.

Hatchling: Wookit, Mama! Apple! (She holds out a pomegranate.)

Me: No, that’s a … never mind. Put it back. No touching, right? Just LOOK.

Sprout: MAH!

Hatchling: OK, Mama. I get-a bwoccoli. I be riiiiight back.

Me: Honey, don’t – you really want broccoli, huh? Well, I guess that’s a good thing to want. OK. Look, don’t touch all of the – just bring me that one. THAT ONE. (The Hatchling walks towards me with a clump of dripping wet broccoli.) Good, good job. Here, I’ll take it.

Hatchling: NO! I PUTTA INDA CART!!

Me: Honey, we have to put a bag on it first.

Hatchling: INDA CART!!!!!!

Me: Yes, we’ll PUT it in the cart, but FIRST we have to put a bag on it. See? It’s all wet.

Hatchling: All wet!

Me: Thank you. OK, now we need to go down this way for some cereal …

Hatchling: I WUV ceweal!

Me: I know you –

Hatchling: Oh, WOOK! BAWOONS!

Me: Boo, stay here! We’ll look at the balloons later! Honey … (grabs cereal, parks cart and Sprout in corner) Come on, Boo. You have to stay with me, remember? (Hatchling darts through flag display, I knock it over trying to reach her) Ack! (grabs Hatchling with one hand, picks up flags with the other) Now come on. We’ll look at the balloons when we’re all done. Let’s find the milk, OK?

Hatchling: What’s dat?

Me: That’s crackers.

Hatchling: Get some?

Me: Uh, yeah, I guess we do need some crackers.

Hatchling: What’s dat?

Me: That’s gouda. It’s a kind of cheese.

Hatchling: I WUV-A CHEESE! Get some?

Me: No, you don’t like that kind. Come on, here’s the milk. (grabs milk, tries to head back to registers)

Hatchling: What’s dat?

Me: Those are lightbulbs, honey. Come on, it’s time to go pay for our stuff.

Hatchling: What’s dat? What’s dat WIGHT DERE, Mama?

Me: (increasingly beleagured) I don’t … those are cookies, honey.

Hatchling: COOOOOKIES. (She says this exactly like Cookie Monster) Getta some coooooookies, Mama? Get some wight DERE? I WUV-A coooooookies.

Sprout: Ga gooo. Ggggoo.

Me: Fine. (grabs cookies, dumps in cart) Now let’s GO. Come on! (enticingly) Let’s go look at the balloons!!

Hatchling: (brightly) OK! (runs off in the direction of the balloons)

Bag Boy: Wow, she’s a real cutie. How old?

Me: (smiling, fatally turning attention away from the Hatchling) She’s three, and the little one is two months. (notices Hatchling completely entangled in various balloon strings) Honey … argh … (leaves cart and Sprout at register) come here, let’s get you untangled …

Hatchling: I stuck, Mama.

Me: No kidding. OK, now let’s go get our groc-

Hatchling: I NEEDA BAWOON!! MY BAWOON, MAMA!! (Grabs four graduation themed balloons tightly in fist.)

Me: Christ. Look, how about we get this one? Just ONE, ok? And put the rest back.

Hatchling: (brightly) OK! (Marches back to cart with her rainbow happy birthday balloon in hand.)

Grocery Clerk: (smirking) One balloon, then?

Me: (sheepishly) Yeah. Thanks.

Hatchling: OK, Mama! Time to go to car. Say bye-bye!

Sprout: geh-GA.
**********************

Final Score: Hatchling = Eleventy Billion, Me = Zero. Once the Sprout can play I am truly doomed.

I have no idea where she gets it

The Hatchling has been especially dramatic lately, because, well, she’s three and all, and everything is a big deal, for better or worse. A lot of the dramatics are real, by which I mean that she’s really feeling INCREDIBLY HAPPY or INCREDIBLY ANGRY or INCREDIBLY SAD about something, but she’s also started to do faux emotions as a kind of game or to get attention. Mostly, her father and I find this annoying and/or tiring, but sometimes it gives me the giggles.

This afternoon, for example, after we’d had a semi-exhausting trip to Target (“Want to get down, Mama? Get outta cart? Get DOWN, Mama? DOWN??? Want treat? I NEEDA treat! I NEEDAWANTA TREAT!!!!!!! etc.) she had finished lunch and it was getting close to naptime.

“Are you ready for naps, Boo?” her father asked.

“Nooooooooo, no, no, no, no.” the Hatchling explained.

“Ok, well, pretty soon it’s time to go upstairs for naps.”

The Hatchling starts spiraling around the living room, faux crying/whimpering. Because she’s so tired. And sad. And forlorn. And also tired and sad. Mr. Squab decided to cut his losses and play along.

“Awwwwww, are you so sad? Ready to go night-night?”

The Hatchling looks even more pitiful. “Okay, Daddy.”

“Then go give Mama hugs and kisses.”

The Hatchling approaches me with a faraway look on her face, embraces me, kisses me, and backs away slowly, sorrowfully. “Good-bye, Mama,” she intones, waving her hand as if it takes the last bit of strength she has, finally turning to drift up the staircase. It was like fucking Camille in the final throes of galluping consumption. Christ.

We can only hope that she channels this ability to lucrative ends at some future point. God knows it hasn’t worked for me yet.