I just want to thank all of my blog readers. This week we got ELEVEN hits! Thanks for being a part of the success! God bless.

Quickly– Britney Spears at the VMAs —the problem with her lingerie costume was not that she looked fat, it was that she looked like a hooker. (Thank You).

Back to my life: I’ve begun a very bad trend of bringing my daughter a present every day when I pick her up from school it is a) a reward for going to school b) a reward for wearing her glasses. I told her that we weren’t going to do this anymore but she has refused my offer. So yesterday I was sick and when I picked her up I brought a Dora toothbrush (she loves Dora and she loves brushing her teeth). Guess what? Unacceptable. We actually had to trek to another store and get something else. I know what you’re thinking. You had to? Who’s the boss there? Well, duh! It ain’t me.

Today I stocked up on things for next week. I’m good till Wednesday.

Oh and WHAT IS UP WITH THE METS?

Well, after being home two days with me Violet was begging to go to school.  I really wasn’t offended, I mean I did play 1000s of games of Dora Candyland, and color pictures of the Backyardigans till my fingers bled and read Phonics books till my voice was hoarse (and guess what? I already know all about long e).  What did she want from me? Okay, maybe I did check my e-mail a few times during the pony tea party but I didn’t want to be Orange Citrus, her hair is in one big matted dred. Why couldn’t I get to be Starcatcher or Starwisher or Pinkie Pie? Their hair is at least tamed.

Today is my daughter’s very first sick day from school. Snif Snif, now I’m really proud. It was quite a thrilling morning when she got up all fevery and coughing and I said, “You can’t go to school.” And I saw her face, “You can’t go to school when you’re sick?” That’s correct. As my brother Matt said, “The tradition continues.”

Oy.

My own daughter, Violet, started Pre-K at a NYC public school three weeks ago. She is still clinging to my leg and hysterically screaming as I drop her off. Other kids stare at us (show’s over there kids, not here) as they settle into their puzzles. They look at us, sweaty and feral, and one kid speaks for them all, “Is she going to cry again?” Yep, fraid so. In her defense, Violet is four years old and until three weeks ago has pretty much done whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. “Mom, let’s go to turtle park today.” And we did. “Mom, let’s take the dogs to the hot dog stand in Riverside.” Done. Now for six hours (I know, that’s a lot!) she is under Ms. Lorenzo and Ms. Poma’s thumbs (well, mostly in their arms). According to them, two minutes after I leave, she settles in and except for a few quirks (she doesn’t like the teacher to “play music”) she’s part of her community. Thus far: Likes all the kids and the teacher and the playground; does not like “salad.” I’m so proud of her I could bust.