Cooking Camp

This week should be a triumph of motherhood for me. This week is Pre-School Cooking Camp, the creme de la creme of the preschool camping program run by the city, and La Nina has one of 24 precious spots in the camp. Mother's have been known to cry, beg, bribe anything to get their kid into this camp. But, I, and 23 other mother's managed to send our faxes in at 8:00 a.m. on the first day of registration in February, thus securing our spot among the parenting elite. We are on it. We were paying attention. We beat the throngs.

You should know Cooking Camp is delightful--not that I've attended--it's kids only. But each day is spent cooking something like a pizza or a cookie or a cheese sandwich, creating some art project with food and reading stories about food. It is big fun for the foodies of the kid world.
Given the La Nina loves to help me in the kitchen and loves to try new foods, I thought, "What more perfect camp for my precious daughter?" When I heard my scheming secured my little chef a spot in camp, Oh, Happy, Happy Day.

Yesterday was the big "first" day of camp. Knowing that La Nina is 'sensitive' to new adventures we stopped by 'camp' last Friday, met the teachers, saw the classroom and counted the swings on the play ground. She was excited until Sunday night when she announced, "I'm not going to Cooking Camp."

As opposed to some parents who would be crushed by such a pronouncement, I viewed her attitude as merely a piece of egg shell in my otherwise perfect scramble. She told me she was a little scared that she wouldn't know anyone. I consoled her. It was normal to be nervous and it was going to be ok. She held my hand as we walked into camp, she being very brave, me a little annoyed at all the drama. It was cooking camp, for the love of Pete. It would be ok. And it was ok until the aide tried to put a damn name tag on my kid.

Now most kids love stickers. I know this. I have a child who would dress only in stickers if I let her. However, that child was not the one enrolled in cooking camp. The other child was. At the sight of the name tag sticker, the tears flowed. Ok, she sobbed. "No sticker, no sticker, no sticker." Ok, kid, no sticker. Trust me, no teacher will forget her name after that performance, I thought. I was right. The teachers all assured me a name tag was not necessary. I finally peeled LaNina off my leg, told her I would leave my cell number with a teacher in case of trouble and I sprinted for the door.

Later that day, I called home for the report on cooking camp. She loved it. She loved every cotton pickin' minute of it. She loved her teacher, her new friend Sarah, she loved making cookies and even made a mouse out of a paper bag. "Do I get to go tomorrow?" "Yes, of course, dear." The sweet and savory smell of success.

Then this morning. The sobbing started before we were out of the driveway. She hated the teachers, hated the classroom, hated cooking and I was a "bad mommy" for making her go. (Her words, not mine.) I had to carry her in, so she wouldn't make a break for it in the parking lot. The whole time I tried to get out of her why she was sooo upset. Nothing. Just tears and the litany of complaints. I reminded her of the fun from yesterday. Nothing. I threatened to give her spot in cooking camp to the very bitter Maggie. (I bought Maggie off with 3 pairs of Hello Kitty panties...La Nina wanted to know what happened to the panties if Maggie went to cooking camp.- I hate it when my kids are smarter than me) However, once we got to the classroom it all became clear...the tears were about the damn sticker. Ok, kid, no sticker.

So, there are 3 more days of cooking camp. Three more sticker name tag wars to wage. I'm coming to dread my morning drop offs more than liver and onions. And I thought this cooking was as easy as pudding pie.