Cool-Hearted Snake

3 years, 6 months, and 9 days. The milestone that most parents must wait for their children to reach well into their teen years, was knocked out of the park tonight by my precious, darling toddler. What did the gifted (clearly) tot accomplish at such a young age? Well, she confidently and emphatically declared to the household (and, in reality, the rest of the neighborhood) that I, her mother and giver of life, was 'not cool'. Her exact words, through the tears and snot: "Not cool, mommy. Not cool."

Oh, really?

This would almost offend me - had I not lost every ounce of 'coolness' from the time I conceived this little gem. Cool left me the day I had to use my toes to pick up objects off the floor because I was too fat pregnant to bend over. Cool walked out on me the day I decided that fabric infused with the constricting powers of a tropical anaconda was suitable for underwear. Cool is sucked out of me every day I sing along with Justin Beiber while driving my mid-size, 'crossover' SUV that is one sliding door away from being a mini van. Cool was long gone the second I became interested in various methods of turning average vegetables and snacks into fun insect and/or animal shapes. So tonight - the pint-sized, vocalized affirmation that I was 'not cool' brought me distress ONLY because I had to fight back the urge to burst out in laughter.

So, what was 'Joe Cool' doing to earn the badge of lameness? I was forced to remove the 1,498 toys from my daughter's possession for 7 days. Not my raddest moment. So as I jammed dress-up clothes and potato heads into the closet, my daughter totally wigged out. As each toy left the shelf Charley wailed a heart wrenching, dissertation as to who got her the toy and how it was her most favorite. She snapped when her 'best-favorite-purse-her-Lulu-bought-for-her-forever' was tossed into the closet. (I think she was going with the nonsense-filled sentences to try and build an 'insanity defense').

Background: Charley received a report today from preschool that she was sent to timeout more than once for not picking up her toys. Unfortunately for Charley her mother is a crazy, neurotic public school teacher who privately fears that her kid will grow up to be THAT kid in class, so said mother may slightly overreact to otherwise developmentally normal instances.

But don't worry my kind-hearted friends - in the spirit of the Christmas season that is upon us, the delinquent was allowed to keep 3 parent-selected toys that fit into a small basket. She outgrew her gold, frankincense and myrrh last year, so she was allowed to keep a ball, a book, and baby doll. I actually just needed a way for her to intentionally, practice putting away toys every night (That's right. I even have my three year old child completing daily formative assessments...Stiggins - the next Dobson).

Being told I was 'not cool' was slightly off-putting, however it can not compare to the comment uttered as the last toy was being put away and the tears had eventually stopped. With the biggest smile and sweetest voice, my kind and oh-so-innocent child walked over, wrapped her arms around my leg and said, "Mommy, you are so pretty."

Ah, there's my little sociopath. Good to know that the initial results from my earnest attempt at scrupulously doling out consequences, included mud-slinging, followed by manipulation. I bet Barbara took away all of George W.'s toys back in the day.

How much in therapy fees will this stunt cost me? Or will she be old enough to pay for her therapy herself?