The Littlest Bully

I’ve read many many blogs recently detailing the agony and ecstasy of back-to-school time. I’ve laughed with you and cried with you as your little ones faced new teachers and new friends and new enemies and new vomit (I’d love to link you to a post about Parisian preschoolers who vomit with excitement in class on the first day of school, but the blogger took it down because of the confusion and panic it created in the blog world. Apparently, it’s a French thing, this spontaneous first-day-of-school vomiting, much like the tradition we Americans have of bringing an apple for Teacher). So bear with me please as I relate to you the negative optimism, the optimistic negativism that I myself experienced this morning as I prepared for a milestone of my own- Back-to-Play-Group-Time.

Luckily, Baby and I didn’t have to head far- just to the playroom off our kitchen (otherwise known as the Snoop Room). Because after a year of attending play group with a passel of passive-aggressive hate-uhs, this time I was play grouping on my own terms. I took the only three nice women from last year’s bunch and invited them to join a new group of my own design. Six more women signed on and we had ourselves a group of players. Or something. Anyway, I was totally excited to try the whole thing over again, minus the bad seeds.

But even though I was pretty sure the moms were taken care of, I couldn’t really vouch for their babies.

Because small children are unpredictable. For every well-behaved angel, there’s a biter or a scratcher or a screamer or a whiner or a loner or a cryer… All of us moms have kids who could fit into one of these categories occasionally, but as I prepared this morning to welcome this new batch of toddlers and their keepers, I worried incessantly that one of them would be, well… a demon from hell.

And what would I, the leader, do? Would I ban the demon and his (because it would have to be a boy, right?) mother from all future meetings? Would I post his mug in church nurseries and at school crossings, ensuring that other moms didn’t have to endure the torture my play group withstood at the hands of said demon? Would I blog about him, calling him Bimmy Bmith, child of Bteve and Beredith Bmith of Borest Bills, Barkansas, so that even readers as far away as Australia (hi, girls) would be able to Google up his family’s personal website and shake their heads at his so-deceptively-innocent-looking baby pictures?

I needn’t have worried. Besides the huge mildew stain on the playroom carpet (created by a certain “Busband”, who came up with the ingenious idea of pouring an entire glass of water on top of a coffee stain in order to get rid of it?!?!?!?), all went smoothly. The moms were laid back and the toddlers were relatively calm- except for Addy.

Two-year-old Addy’s behavior is what Super Nanny would term “un-ass-ept-able”, but her 18-pound frame renders her completely ineffective. Everyone’s bigger than she is, even babies who are a whole year younger- but it hasn’t affected her aggressive outlook in the slightest. Basically, Addy has that age-old toddler affliction that some never really outgrow: Iwantwhatyouhaveitis.

Therefore, she spent the entire hour and a half bullying each baby in turn. This was her strategy:

1. Attempt to take toy.
2. If baby does not readily hand over toy, make threatening noises like “Ohhhhh. Ooo Agh Gow!”.
3. Attempt to force toy from baby.
4. If baby resists, shriek like a Metropolitan Opera soprano being strung up by her toes over a pot of boiling oil and scratch wildly at baby until an adult breaks it up.

After three tries, Addy’s only real victim was the youngest baby of the bunch, a hapless eleven-month-old girl who cried mildly the rest of the time she was there. When her mom finally tried to leave, I, being the perfect hostess, blocked the door until she promised to come back again the next week. Nervously, she agreed- and bolted.

Meanwhile, Addy looked around for a new target. And her eyes settled on my own Baby girl, busy climbing in and out of a child-sized chair. Ah hah! Addy decided that it was high time she sat in that chair herself!

I watched the scenario unfold like a scene from National Geographic Explorer. What would my Baby do? She’s so friendly to everyone, so loving, so unaggressive… Would she cry? Would she give up the chair? Would she hit Addy back? I couldn’t decide.

“Ohhhh. Ooh agh Gow!” Addy said threateningly, cornering Baby as she began to climb back into the chair. Baby ignored her.

Addy next attempted to shove Baby out of her way. But Baby wasn’t budging for this lightweight. She gave Addy a mildly offended look and returned to her task.

It was too much for Addy to take.

“AyyyyEEEEyahYOHHHHHeeeeOOOOYAAAAHHHH!” Addy screamed and clawed and screamed some more. In response, Baby muscled her way to the middle of the chair, grabbed each arm, and protectively bent down over the seat. She had braced herself and wouldn’t give an inch. Calmly, she watched Addy and waited for the storm to subside.

Addy’s mother stepped in and pulled her out of the fray. Meanwhile, I felt like applauding for my kid. Surely this was an indication of her future personality! When threatened by a buck-toothed bully, a domineering teacher, a browbeating boss- she wouldn’t cave, nor would she try to retaliate, eye for an eye. She’d hunker down and weather it, without giving an inch. Yes.

So that’s my back-to story. There was no poop involved, not even a joggle. But dang it, it meant something to me. Thanks for “listening.”