i'm very sorry, but i hate you

Lemony Child is enrolled in a lovely little preschool called Lemony Child's Preschool. She loves loves loves her little school. She paints fabulous things on construction paper and strings macaroni on yarn. There are parties, many many parties, to celebrate Winter and Spring and Rainbow Fish Day. They've made pizza, beachy desserts (think sand buckets and six thousand pounds of 'nilla wafer crumbs here), and pancakes hard enough to play hockey with.

She loves it, which makes me feel better about ditching her there for three hours three mornings a week so I can ignore my responsibilities and lie on the couch with a cup of coffee, a blanket, and a rented flick spinning in the $400 DVD player Mr. Lemony insisted we had to have.

(side note: i told you mr. lemony was insane)

This is all good, right?

Um. NO. Why?

Because there are other kids at Lemony Child's Preschool. Kids Lemony Child wants to play with. Kids with names like River and Lake and Pond Scum.

(okay, i made that last name up)

Of course she wants these kids to play at her house, which means MY house. There are only so many excuses a mum can come up with, you know? I mean, eventually the kid is going to get that I'm not actually going to polish all the doorknobs in the house with her blankie if she doesn't stop asking if Merry Lynnie (oh, i so wish i had made that one up) can come over for lunch, so once in a while I'll accept defeat and allow her to invite stupidly named children to Lemony Villa. These invites are usually me approaching Merry Parent to warn them of the youngest Lemon's desire to feed their Merry Offspring some peanut butter and jelly on whole wheat...

...unless the kid is allergic to peanuts and suffers from Celiac Disease of course...

Which you know Merry Lynnie is (allergic) and does (suffer).

CHANGE OF PLANS PEOPLE!! because I can barely keep up with my own kid and her allergies, so I am so not taking responsibility for the Merry Anaphalactic Reaction that occurs when I buy the wrong gluten-free bread.

Merry Lynnie's Merry Mum agreed this was wise, and so we hatched a plan to feed lunch in separate houses and then combine children later, with each kid providing her own allergen-free snack to nosh on. I promised to post NO SHARING! signs every six feet. We were all set.

Until.

Merry Mum decided she didn't really know me well enough to deposit her child in my care. Ooookay, I get it, it's fine, sure, why don't you come with her, and we can chat while our children don't share snacks. I'll make coffee.

Merry Mum informed me she doesn't like coffee. Or tea. Or hot chocolate. Or Diet Coke with Lime. Or water. She's very fond of banana nectar, however.

Me: Banana nectar? Really? I don't have any of that.
Merry Mum: Well, they sell it in the International Food aisle at the grocery store?
Me: Really? I didn't know that. I still don't have any of that.
Merry Mum: I just told you where to get it.
Me:

I knew were not off to a good start, and when the woman showed up at my front door with her child and a bag full of bananas I knew we were in trouble.

The girls played nicely. Merry Mum and I? Not so much.

Merry Mum: Oooh, look, you have a scrape on your wrist...how did that happen?
Me: Really? Where? That's a tattoo...
Merry Mum: (eyes wide in horror) A TATTOO??! Of WHAT? And WHY?
Me: Well, it's an AIDS ribbon...
Merry Mum: A WHAT? AIDS ribbon?? Why do YOU have an AIDS ribbon? Do you have AIDS??!?!!?
Me: No.
Merry Mum: Are you sure?
Me: Um...no?

I don't think they'll be coming back, which is just fine, because I hate the Merries. Besides, Lemony Child has moved on to Happy Harry and Mountain Stream. Remind me not to invite them for lunch.