Story Time

I finished my third class of story time with Ellie at the library.  We were on-time and even though no one else comes prepared with the essentials, I still do.  Burp cloth; check.  Diapers; check.  Wipes; check.  Emergency cheerios; check.  In this session there were five kids.  Two boys, and three girls.  Two of the babies had their grandmas with them, and the rest of the parents were around my age.  Our group is always very quiet, but when these rowdy grandmas came in I couldn’t help but feel a little threatened.  Intimidated.  Each week I’m determined to participate more, to interact more, but these grandmas seem pretty dominating.  We’ll see how I do. 

We sit down and Ellie is already pumped.  She immediately squeals and starts heading her way to one of the boys.  He sits in his mom’s lap and looks scared.  “This chick is nuts!”  I scoop up Ellie up and story time begins.  It starts with a book.  Ellie squeals again and stands up.  The grandmas chime in “oh my, she’s really excited.”  She is the most excited and most outgoing one of the bunch.  She is fixated on the instructor and the book and stares with a smirk on her face.  The other kids are just looking around the room or playing with their shoes.  The grandmas are participating more than their grandbabies.  They are mooing and barking loudly at the animal flashcards being shown.  Otherwise the room is pretty quiet. 

Next comes the nursery rhymes.  Patty Cake.  Which, by the way, did you know it’s actually called Pat-A-Cake?  I did not know this until I Googled it.  The instructor sings through Pat-A-Cake a few times and I’m really listening to the words because I don’t know them.  I figure I should learn these soon.  The other parents my age are half mumbling the words like I am, but these grandmas are singing along like they wrote the song.  The instructor isn’t handing out prizes ladies.  Let’s use our inside voices okay.  I notice one of the lyrics “and mark it with a B.”  I really don’t know what that means.  What kind of cake is this?  Hesitantly, I ask what the “B” stands for.  The instructor doesn’t know, but sure enough those grandmas do.  “It stands for BABY.”  Well, par-don me.  If I was baking a cake for my baby, I would not put a “B” on it, I think to myself.  Maybe an “E” for Ellie, with a heart around it and some sprinkles.  But I reply with, to make sure Dad doesn’t eat it by mistake?  No one found this cute.  Luckily Ellie squealed to break the silence. 

Then it’s toy time.  All the babies sit shyly looking back at their parents for approval to go get the toys.  But not Ellie.  She’s on the ground and the first one to the box.  She grabs a few toys and shakes them with a smile.  Then she heads for the instructor.  She crawls right up and sits in her lap for a little bit.  And then she heads over to one of the grandmas.  She climbs up on her leg and starts pulling on her hair.  I thought about stopping her, but maybe it’ll be a good lesson.  Look Ellie, H is for hair.  As Ellie climbs around and meets people and the other babies, the grandmas take it upon themselves to be the toy police.  They intervene and make sure babies don’t take toys away from other babies, or they make suggestions.  They even decided to appoint themselves to teach the other babies, too.  “This is a ball…  do you know what a ball is?  It is a red ball, can you say red ball?”  What’s with these ladies!?  How about you worry about getting your hippie grandson a haircut and stop policing the room.  The other parents and I just sit quietly and make sure our kids don’t pull hair or punch anybody. 

I thought about being more social this time, I thought about singing along to the songs, but I was a little turned off by the grandmas.  I know they mean well and they have a wealth of knowledge that I don’t.  But they rubbed me and my cake pan the wrong way.  And to be honest, all this Pat-A-Caking had me a little distracted so I couldn’t wait to get home and bake a cake.  I think I’ll do just that… and I’ll even put an “E” on it… with sprinkles.