Spirit Day

When the terrible twos weren’t so terrible, I figured I’d won the jackpot in the child lottery. I breathed a sigh of relief when the independent threes went by with minimal “I do it!” The fours weren’t too bad either. Then came the fives…

Apparently, my Stepford child is a master of strategy. It seems she’s been playing the long game this whole time, just waiting for the right moment to assert her independence. That time happened to be when we were already running late for school–again. You’d think that by the end of the year, we’d have this thing figured out, but the closer it gets to June, the later we make it out the door. Forget September’s homemade breakfast that offers most of the four food groups, by April I’m tossing half-warmed boxed waffles on her plate.  

It’s a cool, cloudy, May morning. The clouds are expected to burn off shortly leaving us with a glorious sunny afternoon. I’m rushing around, late as usual, and toss her clothes at her: a school T-shirt for her preschool’s Spirit Day and black pants – already pre-approved by the little dictator herself. Dressing should only take a minute.

Coming back to prod her to brush her teeth, I find her bedroom door closed.  A sure sign that something has gone awry.

“We have to go. We’re late. Brush your teeth.” (My daily morning mantra.)

“In a minute. I’m almost ready,” comes her muffled little girl voice from behind the door. My blood pressure rises when I notice her spirit day clothes on the floor outside her bedroom. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I know it is not going to end well for me.

She comes out dressed in not one–but two–layers of boys’ long black thermal underwear. (For the minuscule amount of snow days we get in the PNW, I’m not paying $2 more for pink.) I try to reason with her: There is NO possibility of snow. It is going to be warm, very warm.

While she has inherited her dad’s penchant for logic, today she’s more Kirk than Spock. She’s cold. This is what she’s wearing. Rules and conventions be damned.

And that’s how she went to preschool. I had no time and zero energy for that battle. Oh, and I’m pretty sure we skipped brushing teeth that morning too. (Don’t tell the dentist.)

Can you tell it’s almost the end of the year?  It’s true, teachers aren’t the only ones going crazy. (I think I lost the last thread of my sanity in March.) Hang in there! We’ll be wishing for September before you know it!