Man, I am sick of talking about this. I'd imagine you are, too, right? I mean, how much can a person ramble on about a three year-old in school? Like, everyone goes to school. A lot of people have kids in school. This is neither unique nor interesting. Yet the funny thing is, despite my dislike of the subject, the complete cliche that is my life right now, I cannot stop the verbal diarrhea coming out of my mouth when the world "preschool" is mentioned in a conversation. Unknowing but kind friends will unwittingly ask me how Scotty is doing and I am remiss to stop the torrent of words that flow out of my mouth. Twenty minutes later, they are secretly checking their watches and stretching to cover their yawns. Are you yawning yet? Seriously? I know you are.
But since you are here, let's chat about preschool for a moment. (ha!) So...yeah. It's been a roller coaster. Okay, maybe not a real roller coaster like you'd find at Six Flags, but more like "Elmo's Flying Fish" at Sea World. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but then you get on it and you realize it moves a lot faster than you expected and the ride won't end anytime soon. You try not to hurl your overpriced, stale popcorn all over your shoes, because no one else seems to be the least bit bothered.
And that, friends, has been our experience. Last Friday, Brian and I had the unique honor of being "those parents" who got pulled aside during pick-up. "I need to talk with you," said Scotty's teacher in a hushed, quiet tone. She avoided all eye contact. Oh geez, what did the kid do now? My mind raced from minor infractions to major ones, like flinging his own poo around the classroom and perhaps at other children. (Editor's note: this has never happened before, but I am a catastrophist to the nth degree). Finally, finally, the line of parents picking up kids finally winded down so Mrs. G could tell us what horrific crime our spawn committed as I willed my blood pressure down to normal limits.
"He's very...upset," she said. Oh really? Tell me something I don't know. "He really misses his mom." Big surprise. "He was very emotional today, particularly during lunchtime and nap time." Still waiting. "A few of the other kids tried to console him but he wasn't having any of that." Well, that's a fun visual. Our little Bear is pushing other kids away? Good lord. "So," she continued slowly, "In order to facilitate a better day at school, I think it's best if you use the drop-off system. And he is dropped off by Dad.."
And with that, I got kicked out of preschool.
I get the logic - saying bye to me at the house is easier than at school, and their drop-off system, which consists of simply driving up the front and letting an aide take the child out of the car is quick and mostly painless - but man, I couldn't believe it was day 2 and they were already giving us "recommendations." That involved...me.
Despite some serious eye-rolling on my part, we heeded their recs. And Day 3 (this past Wednesday) went swimmingly. Scotty was grinning ear-to-ear when he saw me at pick-up. Of course, he darted out of his seat to smash his face against the glass and howl, "Moooomaaaaaa!" but he took the redirection back to his seat quite well. This morning, Day 4, yielded equally beneficial results as he only got a little teary as I buckled him in the carseat in our driveway. "Momma come to school, too?" "No sweetie," I told him gently. "Momma will see you after art today." Momma was going to make herself some breakfast and enjoy a completely silent house. Score!
And Brian just called to say that upon exiting the car, Scotty happily told the aide, "Dada go to the pig farm, Momma go to Junior League, and Scotty gets ice cream after school." That is all mostly true, though I shudder to think what the school must be thinking of us.
Speaking of the school, let me just say: I am blown away. Two weeks in and I have yet to pick my jaw off the floor. The expectations are high, the curriculum is "aggressive," and they aren't messing around. In just a few days at school, Scotty can now **mostly** use the bathroom unassisted, he puts his backpack on without help, and is drawing and tracing up a storm. For a kid that we could not drag away from the train table or his cars, he now happily sits at the kitchen table, practicing his "'tamping" (stamping) and tracing. And he's good! It's shocking. And I think he's going to be left handed.
I'm not sure when this ride is going to end (does it ever?!) but I'll take the momentarily lapse in drama with appreciation. After all, next week, they start the letter 'A' and the number 1. Who knows what melee will result.
But since you are here, let's chat about preschool for a moment. (ha!) So...yeah. It's been a roller coaster. Okay, maybe not a real roller coaster like you'd find at Six Flags, but more like "Elmo's Flying Fish" at Sea World. It doesn't seem like a big deal, but then you get on it and you realize it moves a lot faster than you expected and the ride won't end anytime soon. You try not to hurl your overpriced, stale popcorn all over your shoes, because no one else seems to be the least bit bothered.
And that, friends, has been our experience. Last Friday, Brian and I had the unique honor of being "those parents" who got pulled aside during pick-up. "I need to talk with you," said Scotty's teacher in a hushed, quiet tone. She avoided all eye contact. Oh geez, what did the kid do now? My mind raced from minor infractions to major ones, like flinging his own poo around the classroom and perhaps at other children. (Editor's note: this has never happened before, but I am a catastrophist to the nth degree). Finally, finally, the line of parents picking up kids finally winded down so Mrs. G could tell us what horrific crime our spawn committed as I willed my blood pressure down to normal limits.
"He's very...upset," she said. Oh really? Tell me something I don't know. "He really misses his mom." Big surprise. "He was very emotional today, particularly during lunchtime and nap time." Still waiting. "A few of the other kids tried to console him but he wasn't having any of that." Well, that's a fun visual. Our little Bear is pushing other kids away? Good lord. "So," she continued slowly, "In order to facilitate a better day at school, I think it's best if you use the drop-off system. And he is dropped off by Dad.."
And with that, I got kicked out of preschool.
I get the logic - saying bye to me at the house is easier than at school, and their drop-off system, which consists of simply driving up the front and letting an aide take the child out of the car is quick and mostly painless - but man, I couldn't believe it was day 2 and they were already giving us "recommendations." That involved...me.
Despite some serious eye-rolling on my part, we heeded their recs. And Day 3 (this past Wednesday) went swimmingly. Scotty was grinning ear-to-ear when he saw me at pick-up. Of course, he darted out of his seat to smash his face against the glass and howl, "Moooomaaaaaa!" but he took the redirection back to his seat quite well. This morning, Day 4, yielded equally beneficial results as he only got a little teary as I buckled him in the carseat in our driveway. "Momma come to school, too?" "No sweetie," I told him gently. "Momma will see you after art today." Momma was going to make herself some breakfast and enjoy a completely silent house. Score!
And Brian just called to say that upon exiting the car, Scotty happily told the aide, "Dada go to the pig farm, Momma go to Junior League, and Scotty gets ice cream after school." That is all mostly true, though I shudder to think what the school must be thinking of us.
Speaking of the school, let me just say: I am blown away. Two weeks in and I have yet to pick my jaw off the floor. The expectations are high, the curriculum is "aggressive," and they aren't messing around. In just a few days at school, Scotty can now **mostly** use the bathroom unassisted, he puts his backpack on without help, and is drawing and tracing up a storm. For a kid that we could not drag away from the train table or his cars, he now happily sits at the kitchen table, practicing his "'tamping" (stamping) and tracing. And he's good! It's shocking. And I think he's going to be left handed.
I'm not sure when this ride is going to end (does it ever?!) but I'll take the momentarily lapse in drama with appreciation. After all, next week, they start the letter 'A' and the number 1. Who knows what melee will result.
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