Yesterday was the final day of the holiday school break for Miss C, otherwise known as “Ha, ha parents! You must deal with another Monday ALL ON YOUR OWN suckahs!” We were all a little worn for wear, like the back of your neck when you can’t quite get the itchy tag shirt to stop annoying you.
Miss C had her first dance class of the year and despite the fact that I read every book to be found in the waiting area to her, Miss A grew increasingly grumpy. She was that end of day weary 3-year-olds get that you don’t dare verbally acknowledge unless you want to be accosted with, “I am NOT tired Mommy!”
Finally class ended and we stood peering into the classroom through the observation window while all the little pony-tailed dancers in a blur of pink waited for a sticker from the instructor. And then Miss A officially lost it. “I want a sticker mommy, I want a sticker” I told her I would give her a sticker when we got home, but that didn’t pacify her one bit.
Miss C walked out just as Miss A flung herself to the floor in a heap of frustration and when I explained what was going on, Miss C didn’t hesitate to run back into the dance studio and ask her teacher if she could please have a fairy sticker for her little sister.
I was so proud of Miss C it made up for the numerous spats they got into over the holidays. That is, until we got in the car and they started fighting in the car on the way home.