Big week for the graduating class of 2012. It’s finals week in the toddler room.
Will they eat all the food provided from the school kitchen? Can they successfully drink out of big boy cups? How will the transition to the new class go? Will they remember to come home in their own pants? (That last one proved a resounding No.)
In preparation, we took the boys for their first professional haircut. You’ve got to make a good impression, after all. (Turns out, all three two-year-olds headed for the Tiny Two’s class showed up for school on Monday with new big boy haircuts.)
Talk about stimulation overload. The swanky salon was bursting with primary colors – a big screen tv blaring Mulan on either end of the building, coin-operated car rides, play houses, and every client chair a different vehicle.
Destroy went first. The moment the drape wrapped around him, he shot me a look meant to explicitly share his displeasure. Search sat uncharacteristically still, while crying huge crocodile tears.
Ten minutes later, the little dudes scampered out of the shop – perfectly content with their respective cherry and lime lollipops. All traces of baby in the boys was left behind.
Thems little boys.
Unfortunately there was a downside to this momentous maturation. It does not appear romance was meant to survive the distance chasm spanning the infant/toddler room and the preschool playground.
As we walked toward the car this week, Destroy suddenly melted to the ground.
“Lola! Lola! My Lola!” he pointed and wailed.
The infamous Lola was being strapped into her carseat in the Volvo parked across from our very own MomMobile.
We stopped to say hi. A broad grin broke across my little man’s face. “Lola. Hi, Lola.”
“Ryan,” she said wickedly. (Ryan’s a classmate still back in the toddler class with our beloved Lola.)
Ouch. At least he looks good.