I am raising a Queen Bee and it flummoxes me.
By my definition, a Queen Bee is a person who doesn't have a conversation with you, she makes pronouncements. She dislikes when you dare disagree with her, but she won't argue with you, instead she will shun you. She leads, not by example, but by fear. Fear of losing her favor, fear of losing her connections. Fear of not having someone to chat with while your kids do whatever extracurricular activity (or in a Queen Bee's case it would be more like activities) you have the precious offspring enrolled in.
There is a Queen Bee that I see a few times a week at one of my progeny's activities. She comes in wearing her mom jeans, hair and makeup looking like she just rolled out of 1989. She is the worst kind of Queen Bee because she doesn't look like what you would normally assume someone who wields such mom-power would. She looks like a dumpy, middle-aged house frau. But then you hear her buzz. It's louder and more assertive than the buzzing from the moms who flock to her. She has firm opinions on everything from where to get the best fruit (no grocery stores for her! You must - MUST - drive to this little farm about 30 miles outside of town. Oh, and tell them that you heard about it from her!) to how to get stains out of Jr. Bee's uniform (NO CLOROX! OMG!). I sit, a few chairs down from where she holds court, and I listen. I have no desire to join the gaggle of moms who swarm around her. I prefer to snicker quietly to myself when she makes one of her declarations while reading my book or, shockingly, actually watching my child participate in class!
I have strong opinions on certain things - but I also strongly believe that there are many different ways to buy fruit, get stains out, parent your children, make a ham sandwich, etc. You like Miracle Whip? I think that shit is vile, but I don't have to eat your sandwich. You formula fed? I breast fed and I believe that it was the right choice for my kids, but your kid doesn't look like he is going to be picking up a banjo and starring in a remake of Deliverance because he sucked down Similac. You like Clorox? Fine. It might yellow your whites, but I don't have to wear them! You want my opinion, I will share it with you if you ask, but I won't demand that you agree that I am right. I won't dislike you if you do it differently.
And then there is Kyra. At 5, she is already buzzing like a Queen Bee. She doesn't walk into preschool. She makes an entrance. She doesn't join in the games that the other kids are playing when we arrive, she announces that they will play a new game and she will decide what that game is. She will tell the assembled group, who swarm around her, that "you will be the daddy, you will be the baby and I'm the mommy, so I'm in charge". She even tries to Queen Bee me. She sighs and rolls her eyes when I don't comply with her demands. "Pick that up mommy" she demanded tonight after she deliberately dropped her jacket on the floor, then she sulks and shuns me when I laugh at her ridiculousness. I like that she is fierce and independent but she needs to learn to be kinder. To ask, not demand. To accept that not everything can be her way. That it's not fair that she believes everything must be shared with her, but that she has to share nothing.
Sometimes I wonder where this child came from. How a worker bee like me (though with some admitted diva qualities that I try to keep under control) gave birth to such Queen Bee. At this point, I just try to keep her buzzing to a minimum and to keep her from stinging anyone. But if she is like this at five, I can't imagine what she will be like at 15. I hope the hive is ready because it is going to be a wild ride.
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