Ivy has been having a hard time at pre-school for the last few weeks. A couple of little girls have told her 'We don't like you. You're not our friend.'
*cue the sound of a mothers heart breaking*
Ivy didn't tell me; another Mum did. Ivy just went quiet and became very clingy with the teachers. Some little friends of hers have formed an intense twosome, and they're learning how to manage their desire to just be with each other. Nobody's fault. One of those lessons in life and relationships, right? A necessary rite of passage? I hope so. It hurts. These things might roll off some kiddos, but not Ivy. Sensitive Ivy has taken it hard. Eventually I got her to talk about what happened. 'It's bad news when somebody doesn't like you, Mama, ' she said. I'm talking, story-telling, hugging; but she's struggling to move past 'I don't know how to make friends, Mummy.'
*cue another chunk of my heart breaking off*
Keith is upset too. When I told him, we looked at each other and shouted 'Homeschool! Homeschool!'
I've decide to try and inject a bit more socialisey fun into her life, so today I took her off to her first ballet class. She dressed herself in the black tutu from the dress-up box, her much-loved 'Bring Back Warnie' t-shirt and a skull bandanna. 'This is who I am, people.'
It was pretty adorable watching a room of tiny toddlers pointing and skipping, and I really enjoyed the theatre of sourpuss stage mums in their natural habitat. 'Tamara! Pull up your sleeve or we are leaving!' But overall, baby ballet wasn't Ivy's scene. On the way home, Ivy said 'That was fun, Mum but we shouldn't do ballet anymore. ' I pictured my little punk princess, surrounded by pink leotards and frilly socks, and remembered the moment she stretched her arms high and revealed a belly covered in temporary skull-and-crossbones tattoos.
"OK, Ivy-Cakes,' I said.'Next week we'll check out the circus class.'