The Nursery Lawyer (or... All About the Princess)

The princess has discovered a brochure for a toy that was included with a DVD produced in 2004. The toy was made in 2004. The toy was only made in 2004.

As she is not a reader, she decides it is the most wonderful thing in the world. She takes it to show-and-tell at pre-school. Mama tries to bring her gently down to earth. "Sweetheart, I didn't see this toy at Toys 'R Us. I don't think they have it anymore."

"But here is the toy store sign, Mama," she says rationally, pointing to the Toys 'R Us logo.

"Yes," I agreed, "But we were just there and I didn't see any. Did you?"

She thinks about this for a minute. "I will ask Santa Claus to bring it to me!" she decides happily.

"Um, sweetheart, I don't think Santa is taking this toy to children this year," I reply, a little weakly and with a sinking heart.

Her heart is faithful, though. "I will ask him now and he will ask the elves to make it specially for me," she announced. "See I will cut out the picture and paste it on the paper and we will send it to him."

Thank the good Lord for e-Bay. However, it appears that the princess is not the only child to have discovered that same brochure this year. These things are already all the rage and going at ridiculous prices.

And yes, she did cut up the brochure and paste the pictures to a piece of paper for Santa.

So today I asked her what she was going to ask Santa for. "My Caillou toy," she said, looking at me strangely, as if I should already know this.

~o~

I hear these tell-tale noises from the area of my desk. I'm in the kitchen and, without looking, automatically say, "Princess, don't touch the computer!" She knows she has to ask first.

"I'm not touching the computer, Mama!" she says back proudly. "Just the mouse!"

Along with my groan of disbelief, there was this corner of my brain that said, "She has a point. She is just touching the mouse."

Argh. I'm in trouble. Does anyone know how to save for college and law school?

~o~

"You can have a cookie if you eat your breakfast," I say, wandering off to my bathroom to brush teeth and acquire contact lens vision.

Three minutes later, the princess bursts in. "I finished my breakfast, Mama and I cleaned up too!" She smiles and squats and starts to lifts her arms, and then in a wild burst of energy jumps up, arms above her head. "And now I can have a cookie!"

"You ate your breakfast?" I asked suspiciously.

"Uh-huh and I put my eggs in the trash and my plate in the sink and, and, and everything!" she exclaims.

I immediately turn to the kitchen to see what chaos has been created. The eggs were tossed in the open recycling bin, and the ever-scrounging canine D is already burrowing through the bin, pulling out egg-tainted recycling boxes, bottles and cans from which she can scavenge leftovers. Her plate is in the sink, having been dropped in atop glasses from late last night.

I sigh.

The princess does not notice my angst. "See Mama!" she shouts. "I did it all by myself."

Yes, she certainly did. And yes, she got her cookie. And yes, all the recycling is now trash.

~o~

Moving hasn't all been easy and wonderful. The princess is in a new pre-school, but I do not discount the trauma of replacing one caregiver and group of friends with another, particularly when my little outgoing 3-year-old is the 'new kid'.

This morning, I took her to pre-school. She ran in, very excited, and spoke to her teacher for a minute, then joined two boys building a curling tunnel. I was chatting with her teacher for three seconds, and looked up to see her scuffing away, her face dejected. She found an empty chair at a computer terminal and I helped her pop in one of the educational CDs the kids play with.

A few minutes later it becomes obvious that one of these pre-schoolers has helpfully deleted a critical file which prevents the CDs from operating correctly. The princess smiled brightly at the girl playing a Toy Story game on the next computer. "Can I watch you?" the princess asked.

The girl frowned and wrinkled her nose a little. "No, I don't want to be with you," she said. Little snot, I thought immediately, but I was the only grown-up who heard, and really the girl is usually very nice.

My little girl's face nearly crumpled, but she turned and looked and I was still there so she hugged my leg and I said, "Let's find another game." I settled for giving the other girl a disapproving look, but she just stared at me in perfect innocence, having gotten exactly what she wanted (to be left alone).

We went to the opposite end of the room, where she immediately ran and grabbed a dishpan full of flour and pouring toys (a favorite among the children), carried it to the table and sat down by herself to play.

"I love you," I said. "I have to go now."

"I know, Mama!" she said, smiling brightly at me, as if she hadn't a care in the world. "Bye bye!"

Intellectually and emotionally I know in my gut that she's never going to be happy with just Daddy and I, and to pretend otherwise isn't going to help. The child arguably has social skills that are, during her good and non-grumpy times, as well developed as a teenager [child three times her age*]. We knew it would take some time for her to adjust, and her teachers tell us that she hardly ever plays by herself for more than a few minutes at a time - that the other kids like her and she is outgoing and confident enough to follow their play instead of always creating her own (she's a natural leader). They tell us that she's adjusting well, that her extroverted self-confidence helps her be able to handle rejection from those whose social skills are reflected in their age, and that her concept of friendship and cooperative play is much more developed than her age-level suggests ...

But 5 hours later... I still want to cry, go back, gather her up in my arms and bring her home and keep her safe and happy.

*changed in the interests of honesty, but they are very well developed for 3