Number three will be turning 11 in just a few months, and I think it’s safe to say I’m a bit rusty on how to deal with a small child. I did what any self-respecting mother of three girls would do – I delegated her care to my offspring – after all, I wiped their noses and…well, you get the picture.
My younger sister gave me rough directions on what it would take to safely deliver Miss Shelby to pre-school this morning after our sleepover. I heard something about a code, and something about downstairs, and something about a cubby followed by, “Shelby will help you out and tell you what to do. She knows her code and won’t hesitate to boss you around.” Fabulous, finally a constructive outlet for her bossiness.
We arrived five minutes before school was to begin. We (Shelby, #2, and myself) walked in the front door and I said, “Shelby, what do we need to do.” She responded with “Go downstairs.” So we tromped past the front desk and made our way downstairs. We followed Shelby to her room and she made a beeline for her cubby. We helped her get all her bags, pillows, coat, and car seat (boy little kids come with a lot of luggage) crammed in and around her cubby. I said, “Okay, Shelby, now what?” She looked at me like I was a moron and said, “See ya’ later.” Now, I’ve never been to this preschool before, but I definitely remember her mother giving me more directions than “drop her off and you’re done.” “Don’t we need to put your code in somewhere?” “Yeah, upstairs.” “Okay. Can you tell me what your code is?” “I dunno.” YOU BIG LIAR! Your' mother definitely said you knew the code. But it was too late. She was off and running into a sea of germy snot-nosed children and I was not about to dive in.
I shot a despairing look at to adults standing near the door. The younger of the two looked like she may be able to help. “Her mother said I have to put a code in somewhere…?” “Yes, upstairs. The girl at the front desk can look up Shelby’s code if you need her to and show you where to put it in.” “Thanks.” Then I walked away and everything was fine.
No wait, that is not where this story ends.
THEN the older of the two ladies opened her mouth and THIS came out, “So are you Shelby’s grandma?” I turned my head, shot her the look of death, and simply answered, “No.” and turned and walked away.
Number 2 took this opportunity to shout as she was running to catch up, “Nana, wait up.” “Shut it.” was the reply she deserved and received. She was still laughing as we reached the front desk to inquire about the damn code.
And this my friends, is why I will NEVER take Miss Shelby to pre-school again.
What is wrong with people? This is the third time in the last two years that have been mistaken for being old enough to be someone’s grandmother. Julie, are you reading this? Whatever dye you are using on my hair every 6-8 weeks is NOT working. I want my money back!
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