kiwords

One of the built-in benefits of parenting multiple children is that no matter how long you've been at it, you're guaranteed to run up against something you've never dealt with before. It's sort of a jerk of a benefit, but there you are.

For me, this year, it's been preschool. We've never done preschool before, so this being my first foray into the world, allow me to assure you of one thing: I am no good at it.

I didn't show up for the Halloween party, somehow missing the fact that parents were supposed to come. I almost never take the papers out of Sophia's backpack until we're walking back into the school the next day. I forgot Sophia's show-and-tell last time, even though it was RIGHT THERE on the calendar, and show-and-tell is the BEST THING that could happen to a four year old EVER (making the missing of show-and-tell the WORST THING, a fact that was only made worse when I apologized to Sophia and she smiled gamely at me and murmured that it was okay, then scurried away with a muffled sob. Shoot me). 

But easily the worst part of preschool is the social aspect. All the other moms are about twelve, and they all know each other, and I sort of feel like a thousand year old leper who wandered into their circle as we all wait for our children. It's nice how being 42 has made me all rational and confident and stuff, isn't it?

I'm no good at arranging play dates (although we've managed a few), and some of the girls Sophia wants to play with I think are tiny little jackasses. Sorry. Actually, there's just one, and she's...hmmm. How would Blessed Mother Teresa put it? She's a horrible little monster.

I'M SORRY. I know she's just four years old. I AM A BAD PERSON. But what can I say? Even her mother sort of dreads seeing her when she arrives to pick her up. And so of course Sophia finds her FASCINATING (can I TELL you how much I'm looking forward to her dating years?), and talks about her all the time.

But today, after I picked Sophia up, and we'd lunched and she'd "helped" Clay, who was home from work today installing baseboards, be still my heart, we went out to run and errand. We had parked, and Sophia requested to hear the end of the song, so we were just sitting there in the parking lot, chilling to the dulcet tones of Veggie Tales. 

"You know what MonsterChild said to me today?" Sophia said after a moment. (MonsterChild is not her real name...OR IS IT??) "During story circle, she told me she doesn't want to play with me because I'm a little boring."

"She...what?" I said, drawing on the deep well of wisdom that comes with 18 years of parenting and an early childhood development minor. It may not look like that stellar of a response, but I also gripped the steering wheel REALLY HARD and hyperventilated a little. Pretty professional, really.

"And then she said that it wasn't mean, what she said."

"Hmmm. Wha...gar...oh..."

"But I think it WAS mean. She can be mean sometimes. I don't think I want to play with her anymore."

And then we got out of the car and toddled off into the store, where I bought an entirely unnecessary book for Sophia because I JUST DID, OKAY?

These are definitely new waters. No doubt. I have spent many a silent minute today staring at nothing and trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do here? I mean, I assume there should be some sort of hair-pulling, screeching fight in the parking lot with MonsterChild's mother, right? I'm not sure what the protocol is. I suppose some people would suggest that Sophia has figured this one out on her own, and will distance herself from MonsterChild and be just fine. Some people are, as my sons would say, chumps. But one thing I'm sure of so far: Sophia is more mature than I am.