Me and Woof Woof -- Lil' e

 

Woof Woof in my school cubby. He waits for me the WHOLE time.
He doesn't even get frustrated that I'm not hurrying.

I've finally found someone who gets me -- Woof Woof, my dog. He doesn't make me go to the bathroom when I don't want. He doesn't make me eat anything I don't like or make me go somewhere I don't want to go. He lets me throw balls at the ceiling or the walls. He lets me throw my food or feel my applesauce with both hands like its mud.

Woof Woof is not without his trouble though. Yesterday he threw my sandwich all over the back seat!!! My mom gave me a cut-up sandwich instead of my usual snack after school and Woof Woof did NOT like that. He dumped out the bowl and then threw the pieces all over the back seat. My mom tried to get me in trouble but I let her know that Woof Woof was the one who threw it. He had to go into a time-out. I hated to get him in trouble, but someone had to be honest for him.

Writing about food reminds me of some completely unrealistic expectations my family has at the dinner table. The way I understand it, is we need to eat the food on the plate. SOOOO, why should they care if I throw my chicken up in the air and eat it off the table or chair or floor where it lands? It shouldn't matter what has been done with it as long as I eat it!

I did make one mistake this week but my dad didn't even let me repair it and make it better. Actually, this wasn't my mistake but I did participate in it. First of all, who gives a two year old a glass plate???? Answer: my dad. Second, if you make a mess, shouldn't you be able to clean it up??? Answer: that's what they teach me at Montessori school but according to my dad, HE needs to clean it up. (Why does he even send me to school if he isn't going to work on the things that they work on with me?) Anyways, back to the incident. My dad gave me a glass plate. I finished my dinner. I was so excited about it because I was getting ice cream that I began to shove the plate onto the floor. It's easier for me to get it off the floor than reach all the way up onto the table to grab it. (I have to put my dishes away after eating.)

My dad started yelling, "NO, NO, NO." I knew he was going to stop me so I shoved harder. Well, my plate landed on the floor and broke into lots of pieces. It was so cool -- the loud noise, the individual pieces flying everywhere and parts of my chicken intermingled with it all. I loved it. So,I laughed. My dad didn't think it was so funny. I offered to pick it up. He wouldn't let me. I screamed and kicked my feet but he still didn't let me. In fact, he made me go into the other room for a time out!!!! I didn't even get to watch him clean it up. How am I going to learn for the next time I make a mess???? They would be very disappointed in him at my school. He is not doing modeling very well at all.

I think I might tell my teacher, Ms. Michelle. Maybe she can help me help my daddy, so I can learn things faster.

Later,

Lil' e