Snack Wars

In case you thought the Miss was umm, “easier” to handle than Rockstar… 

Each day at Miss’ twice-a-week pre-school, a rough schedule around Snack is as follows: The little kids line up to go wash their hands, sing/ listen to nursery rhymes while waiting for each other to finish, then troop back to their classroom where they pick up an (always) standard issue cup and dish, take a seat around the table, wait for everyone to be served before they take their first bite, then take turns pouring their water while they eat.

The toddlers can ask for seconds (or thirds), in Chinese or English depending which day we’re on (we’re in bilingual stream), and whenever they’ve had enough they are supposed to tidy up their cup and plate and sit quietly to be read to by their parent/caregiver under the teacher’s supervision. Then there’s a “treasure basket” exploration time with the contents of said baskets changed around periodically. After that everyone lines up to go to the playground.

At least, that’s what’s supposed to happen. Because around the time they should be finishing up their snack is when the train goes off the tracks for the Miss.

Some days, Her Highness makes to clear her cup and plate away several times, only to change her mind when she’s at the little pile of used plates and cups, turning and sitting back at the table and carry on eating because she can. As in So… What, Everyone Just Does Reading Or Treasure Basket After Snack? How About Not? Some days she sits by herself in the snack area, right through Reading and Treasure Basket, purportedly because she just has to finish her snack.

Then last session she was feeling especially feisty and decided to take it even further. That’s how I find myself in a bizarre version of Toddler Tag And Defense, which consists of her periodically trying to make it to the carpeted Reading and Treasure Basket area holding her unfinished snack in her hand, and me blocking her and repeating over and over that food in the carpeted books-and-toys area is off limits. This is then met with tragic (but still recognizable as put-on because she doesn’t holler as loud as if it’s real. For. the. Moment.) cries, huffy sitting down on the floor, occasional knee-jerk motions, and through it all, a refusal to relinquish the half-eaten snack in her hand. See, she’s not required to finish – she may either stay in the snack area and eat, or tidy up and dump any half-eaten snack and join the rest of the activities. She however wants a third option.

In case you’re wondering what everyone else is doing at the time – ALL the other toddlers move out of the snack area when they’re done. I haven’t seen a single session where any other toddlers try to bring food into the play areas. They just want to tidy it all away quickly so they can go play. Sometimes the kids want to explore something other than the stuff in the treasure basket, but that’s about it, that’s the extent of the insurrection.

I find myself however trying to maintain some semblance of dignity (impossible!) while blocking my toddler from making it to the carpet still clutching her home made probably organic/ probably gluten-free/ probably lo-sugar chocolate biscuit-thing. The several helpers present occasionally meet my eyes and chuckle indulgently, the mummies all politely avert their eyes (haha this must be another version of Karma Covenant of Mums). This time however the Miss’ antics last all the way past Reading and Treasure Basket.

When the others all line up to move to the indoor playground, I stop the Miss from joining the queue, again explaining she has to either put away the snack, or finish it. As everyone else files out, I close the door tightly, hoping to cut down the decibel level. Then I steel myself. The Miss rolls about on the floor for a bit, sits up, stamps her tiny foot, all the while tears rolling down her cheeks………. but for the moment I can still tell it’s put on. She starts retching, and I snap, “Vomit, and you don’t ever get snack here again.”

Terrified. Bloody terrified. As in, ME.

The whole time we’re squaring off I’m not completely sure she doesn’t take me all the way down the rabbit hole. I have no idea how far she’s going to push it, but knowing both children are fairly determined, I know if I don’t try my best to nip it right in the bud it’s going to get more painful very quickly.

I glance anxiously at the clock. I know when the tears become real. She’s going to cry for real if her class comes back in, signaling the end of play time. Very active, the Miss loves playtime. She’s always throwing or kicking a ball. Jumping about on the trampoline. She misses this and she’s going to be inconsolable for real. And that’s when my own heart breaks. Please Dear Lord, Please Don’t Let Her Stick It Out Past Playtime…

“If your friends come back in, you know what that means. That means no more play time. Bye-bye playground. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” <still terrified>

In the end, I repeat that twice. Maybe three times. Abruptly, the Miss gets up off the floor, goes to stand at the closed classroom door, gobbles the rest of her snack in two bites, and holds her now empty hand out for a wipe. 20 minutes, maybe more, it took her to eat the first half of that little biscuit. She finished the other half in….. under 30 seconds? Something just clicked, it was like flicking a switch.

She’s already got a ball in her hands, as I find my way, slightly weak-kneed (Aileen, you wuss), to the play area.

(I know. I could hit a counterpart in a moving market with a USD 10 mil Accumulator notional and not flinch, but facing off with my toddler……!)

See-saw ups and downs

 **Update: At our next session she finished her apple and banana slices, plus second helping, tidied it up when the other toddlers did, and joined both Reading and Treasure Basket. It were a good day, at least until she’s figured out what to try next.