Thursday. March 1. 2007.
Yesterday's trip to the library proved illuminating (we are regulars nearly every week). Hot competition continues to brew around most popular item, The Train Table - especially coveted among the male toddler/preschooler set. Subject, Y, now 2 1/2, plays there for hours. Fights erupt constantly during the "rush hours," from 10-noon in the morning. Tension mounts as mothers crowd 'round too, anxious to keep the paws of their small monkey-like offspring off the rest of them, and to ensure that wooden things do not get clonked on the heads of their brood.
Yesterday gave rise to a battle. There seemed to be bad blood from the get-go between Y and a bigger, taller, moodier, approximately 3.12-year-old specimen we shall designate as Boy X3. Both cases showed a strong, unyielding preference for the BIG trains, of which there are an extremely short supply. The squall burst forth when, for undetected reasons, X3 suddenly had Y in a headlock. Both were screeching. Mother versions were clucking and pecking.
I watched calmly from my nest until one mother version began fluttering about, gasping, "Who's is he?! Is he yours?!" - duly out of concern for Y, the pounced-upon.
"He's mine!" I chimed, and deftly swept in, assuaging all stormy fears.
"Oh!" were the sighs heard echoing throughout the clan of elders, and then the silent beseeching of why in the world I did not swoop down earlier.
Indeed I felt lame as I said it, knowing how this information would be received - but I still believe that I was right. I explained, with a false puff of lax confidence, "I like to see how they're going to problem-solve...I wanted to see what would happen."
"Hmms" and "Ohs," and nods of dubious agreement followed. I remained for a few more reassuring moments at The Table, then with clandestine adroitness, breezed back to my chair post, about 2 feet away.
It is only fair to record, that some time later, at approximately 1100 hours, when another sturdy young lad was impending Y's compass trek 'round the field, I heard Y assert with full pomp and circumstance, "EXCUSE ME, SIR! EXCUSE ME, SIR! EXCUSE ME!!!" (prounounced, "me me, sir! me me, sir! mee mee!!!")
Close, March 1.