Something that Makes My Head Go *KABLOOEY*

I mentioned in passing that Alexis has officially moved to the Preschool Room at daycare. It was a very big deal, both for her and for me. Of course, I was totally all WAAA! WAAA! MY BABY IS GROWING UP! Alexis was all WAAA! WAAA! I DON'T WANNA MOVE! Fortunately, we both survived. Although, there was the little matter of the Introduction Letter that nearly landed me in the asylum.

The Introduction Letter was a note sent home that seems to be a standard sort of letter given to all parents of preschool kids. It outlines the rules of the room. It's mostly stuff like no toys from home, kids need to be able to identify their own coat, blah, blah, blah. Totally reasonable and expected. But, one little section caught my attention and I fixated on it for a solid week. (OK, so I'm STILL fixating on it. Whatever.)

"Preschool children should walk into the center, and not be carried by his parents. This encourages children to feel confident in themselves and have a more mature attitude."

*KABLOOOEY* (That was my head exploding. Again.)

Ignoring the grammatical mess that is that statement, the whole thing just bunched my panties. (Keep in mind that Crazy Daycare Owner Lady is very condescending, especially in person, and I'm not at all the only person who feels that way.) Someone trying to tell me whether or not I should carry my kid 20 feet from the parking lot to the door? Really?

*KABLOOOEY*

Alexis usually gets carried into daycare. There are multiple reasons for it. For one, I don't want to deal with snow/salt getting on her shoes. Crazy Daycare Lady will go Linda Blair on my ass if the kid gets the carpet dirty--I know this from experience. Another major reason is that Alexis is a cute little snugglebug in the morning. She LOVES to cuddle early in the day, and usually spends a great portion of our getting ready time hanging on me like a leech. It can be a bit annoying when I'm trying to hurry, but I figure there will come a day when she doesn't even want to be in the same room as me, so I should probably milk the cuddles for as long as I can. Most of the time I haul her in with her head on my shoulder, and she and I whisper back and forth about what she is going to do that day.

I enjoy that little moment with her. A lot.

So, telling me that I'm doing something WRONG by carrying her inside? Irks me. A lot.

And the part about encouraging confidence and maturity? *KABLOOOEY*

Ahem.

I would LOVE to poll the parents of grown-ups I consider confident and mature. I'd be willing to bet a lifetime of Starbucks that there is no correlation between getting carried 20 feet once per day and whether or not a person grows up to be confident and mature. The mere implication drives. me. batty.

So far I'm ignoring the "rule." Nobody has said anything yet. If they do? *KABLOOOEY*

(Feel free to tell me I'm being crazy. I can take it.)

Everybody Deserves a Fan

When there's a full moon, Britney Spears is sort of sane, and the wind is blowing from the West at precisely 6 mph, I actually cook dinner. It's a rare event, and one that Alexis enjoys immensely. She immediately asks me to pull up the tall stool in our kitchen so that she can sit in front of the stove and "help."

"Help" is, of course, not exactly the right word. She wants to stir and pour and flip and do all sorts of thing that would be wonderful, if she weren't three and completely clueless about the whole HOT thing. So, instead of relaxing as I concoct a little vegetable paella, I spend most of the time trying to distract her and fussing at her not to touch anything.

Despite the fact that she is determined to give me a heart attack by trying to sniff peas as they cook (picture face headed straight for a hot pan--GOOD TIMES!), cooking time with Miss Alexis is one of my favorite times. I get a chance to get caught up on all the good daycare gossip, hear all about how Alexis intends to buy a long flowy dress just like the one Olivia wears to the museum, and listen to whatever song is stuck in her head that day.

All of that is great, but the absolute best part about cooking with Miss Alexis is that she's a fan-freakin-tastic cheerleader. Successfully add a few spices? She will cheer as if you just climbed Mount Everest. Pour some broth without spilling? She hoots and hollers like you just picked winning lottery numbers. And if you manage to crack an egg without making a mess? She rejoices as if you are Ben Roethlisberger and just threw the Super Bowl winning pass to Santonio Holmes.

It's good to have a fan.

Not a Post about Potty Training

When I'm thinking about what to write in this space, and what not to write, I always consider how I would feel if I were the subject of the story. If I would be embarrassed or less than appreciative to have people know the tale, it doesn't belong here, no matter who is the prime suspect in the story. With that in mind, I figured I would pretty much leave the drama of potty training unwritten. Nobody wants to read the painful details of all that, and I'm sure Alexis will gain nothing from reading about it some day. I decided to let her business be her business.

That said, go ahead and imagine a lengthy potty training post here. Make sure you include a Vtech laptop thingy that Alexis wanted soooooo badly, right up until it was in the house and was being used as Dry for Two Straight Days bait. Then add in Mr. Husband discovering a nearly impossible to find copy of Beauty and the Beast on DVD, and me practically jumping through the phone urging him to hurry up and buy it before it disappeared because OMH MOST ULTIMATE POTTY TRAINING BAIT EVAH! Make sure you add in a transition from the toddler class to preschool at daycare, because that was a HUGE factor. Mix it all together, and THROW A FREAKIN' PARTY!

*ahem*

So, yeah. Anyway. Alexis' business is her business, and her business is officially going where it belongs.

WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!