First Day of School

I'm officially old. The kid went to school. She started off the day like a typical school aged child. (Half slung out of her bed, drool covered pillow, lots of mumbling when I woke her up-obviously too early.) Baby was our (obvious) first topic of conversation.

"Good morning Pumkin! Do you know what today is?"
*rubbing eyes* "What?"
"Where do you go today?"
"School." *yawn*
"Are you excited?"
*flatline* "Yeah."

I could barely hold the giggles. She sounded like she'd done this a million times. I asked her if she was sure she was excited and she very flatly insisted. Then came a final attempt at saving her relationship with her best friend.

"Can I take baby?"
"Honey, we already talked about that. Where does baby have to stay?"
"In my backpack. Why does School not let us have our babies?"

And so it begins. I wanted to tell her that school was The Man and to get used to it.

We went on downstairs to eat oats and watch part of a Veggie Tale. I was very unsure about how we were going to get ready in time, because she is slower than a sleeping turtle. She also still needed a bath because she insisted on waiting till morning to take one so we could fix her hair. Teenhood is going to kill me. I rushed some oats down her face, bathed her so quickly that I almost drowned her without even noticing and stuffed her into her dress. We ran downstairs to fix her hair and of course I got the brush stuck in it while we were working on that. "Oh gee!" I thought. "PERFECT! I hope we're late the very first day!" We can just barely afford the school she's going to, and I'm already worried about stupid things that don't matter. (Like her walmart backpack hanging in a row with everyone's LL Bean personalized backpacks...) I don't need to look dumb running in late also.

We made it (fixed hair, pictures, and all) to the parking lot with ten minutes to spare. (Woot!) I parked, sighed, and relaxed into my seat. Then I started feeling kind of closed in. I looked to my left. Navigator. I looked to my right. Escalade. That's funny, I pulled in between the two biggest cars here and my car is so tiny. I looked out the windshield at the row in front of me. Honda minivan. Yukon. Town and Country. Escalade. Honda Minivan. Honda minivan. Navigator. Oh! A car! Oh...BMW. Town and Country. BMW. Oh well. At least my car is from Germany. Sucks for Brandon when he has to drop her off in his $700 station wagon that has a primer gray hood.

I grabbed the kid and stuffed her into her WalMart backpack and headed for the door. On the way across the parking lot, I noticed that everyone had taken the day off from doctoring and lawyering and brought the whole family to the first day of school in their sunday clothes. Crap. I needed a memo for that. Here I am in my running clothes without my husband in a VW. Unexpected failure.

Despite all my worries, she had a fantastic first day. (Apparently kids that young aren't ashamed of WalMart backpacks yet.) She didn't stop talking about it all night and or all day Thursday. She was very dissapointed when she didn't get to go on Thursday. Friday morning I woke her up and this is what I got:

"It's time to go to school again!"
Rolls over and sighs "That's ok, Mommy. I don't really feel like going. I'll just stay here today."
Excuse me?! Are you a senior in College?! "Um...well baby, that's not really a choice. Besides, I thought you liked school?"
"I did. It was fun. But I don't need to go anymore." Riiiiiight...

I think we exhausted every spectrum of feelings toward school in a 48 hour period. I hope she sticks close to the "love it" end!

Baby's Bath

Have I mentioned that my kid is hilarious? Ok, not lately, so here's a long awaited bout of hilarity.

My kid carries around this "baby" that's really a bear head with a blanket for a body. You know, the kind of thing that you're always supposed to own a second one? Of course, we have one. Anyway, she calls it Bear Baby. The only problem she's going to have next week when she starts preschool is that Bear Baby must stay in her backpack. Good thing she loves her backpack. I still feel sorry for her teacher.

I used to be able to get her to put Bear Baby in the front loading washing machine for a bath. It was working fine as long as I planned baths far enough away from nap or bedtime. However, suddenly she has decided that she can no longer be away from Baby for that hour, so Baby hasn't had a bath in, let's say...a month?

Baby has been to church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park (probably 6 times), and a large variety of other places in the last month. Baby smells like a butt. And every night when my darling sleeps she sucks her thumb and rubs her fingers through the germs from church, the pool, many public restrooms, restaurants, Camden Park, and a large variety of other places. And it doesn't seem to phase her that Baby smells like a butt.

I realize this is disgusting. But you should really see the enormous drawn out Scarlett O'Hara monologue that ensues every time I try to inch Baby toward the washer. It should win and Emmy. I tried stealing it from her in her sleep but she caught me. So I let the kid win one...hey...it doesn't happen often.

Well, today I got a whiff and had quite enough. I decided I was winning and it didn't matter how much I had to use my huge powers as a big mean parent to do it-Baby was getting a bath. Period. I began making announcements concerning the event upon the departure from Grammy's house. I rode all the way across town with Scarlett.

When we arrive at our house I tried giving her the option of putting it in herself.

"Don't you want to be a Mommy and give your Baby a bath?"
"NO! I CAN'T Mommy! I just CAN'T give her UP! I CAN'T give up my BABY!" Of course with this notion (which I'm thinking she might have acquired from accidentally overhearing a lifetime movie) she threw herself on the floor and began to literally wail.
"Well, pumpkin, she has to go in and get clean. Either you put her or Mommy's going to."

Of course she only clutched her tighter and rolled over on her and continued her routine. This forced me to use physical force to pry it away. (Didn't I feel totally tough for being able to overpower a 25 pound preschooler.) I carried baby off to the laundry room and the kid followed close behind crawling and sobbing. I tried to stay cheerful so I wouldn't be painted as an ogre when she tells it. I told her to tell her Baby to have a good bath and she actually said these words:

"I didn't want to give you up. She made me do it! Mommy MADE you get a bath. I hope you feel clean when you're done. I don't want to be without you."

Drama. Queen.

I finally just left her sobbing at the washer door with her face pressed to the plastic. I came back to the living room and a few minutes later she came shuffling in, shoulders hunched, head down, feet scuffing, and nose sniffling so hard I think some brain damage went on.

"What's wrong pumpkin?"
"I...can't...see...my...*sniiiiiiiiiff*...Baby any...more...*sniff sniff sniff*...She got covered up by the...blaaaaaaankies..."
"Honey...it's really going to be ok. She'll be out before you know it, and she won't STINK. I've got another blanky you can hold until then."
"Is it soft?"
"Yes! and it's CLEAN!"
"Is it pink?"
"It has some pink on it."
"Does it have a Bear for a head?"
"Um...no. But it has all those other things!"
"I guess I can hold it."

I already know this isn't going to work, but I thought it might at least hold her off for twenty minutes and she could have a visitation on Baby's way to the dryer. I gave her the insufficient Baby replacement. She held it quietly for 37 seconds.

"Mommy?"
"Yes, pumpkin?"
"Can you draw me a picture of my Bear Baby?"
"What for, honey?"
"So I can cuddle the paper you draw her on. I need to be with her."

She meant it. God be with her Preschool teachers.