Please Send Drugs
When do kids start feeling pressure to be like the people around them? I'm not sure, but I do know that Alexis is already there.
She wants straight hair because she wants to have hair like mine.
She wants to go to Build-A-Bear constantly because her friends get to go all the time. Or, so they claim. My money says this whole Build-A-Bear thing with the preschoolers is like alcohol with teenagers. You know, where "I drank SO much beer" actually means, "I had a sip." I bet Evie has managed to go to Build-A-Bear once total. She's just telling the other kids she goes every week so that she looks cool.
Alexis wants to dress like the girls on High School Musical. Except Sharpay. She doesn't want to dress like Sharpay because Sharpay is too mean. (Parenting win right there!)
Alexis walks around with a little Green Monster on her shoulder. He's constantly telling her to be jealous of everybody and everything.
She's even jealous that some of her friends have allergies.
I've tried to explain to her that it's stupid to want something that sucks. She isn't buying what I'm selling. To her, the friends that have allergies get to have special foods at lunch. They get to go to the doctor all the time (she's a dork and still thinks the doctor's office is all fun and games). Most of all, the friends who have allergies get special treatment.
Who doesn't want special treatment?
As we were sitting out on the patio one evening, Alexis was carrying on and generally being a complete nutjob. She knew she had managed to fray all of my nerves except one, and she was PROUD. With a grin on her face and a twinkle in her eye, she was playing that last nerve like a fiddle. She was talking and talking and talking and jibbering and jabbering and generally making me miss the days when she hadn't learned to talk yet. Those were the glory days!
As she continued to wear on that nerve, I started to give her That Look. You know, That Look that moms do when they're daydreaming about duct-taping your mouth shut. Alexis knows That Look very well. She sees it often enough that she doesn't even have to ask. She KNOWS I'm thinking she should try being quiet for a moment or two or ten.
"Momma," she finally said. "I'm sorry, but I'm allergic to not talking."
Anybody know who I have to talk to so that she can get treatment for that allergy? Please?
Monday, May 30, 2011
