Preschool
Aside from my absolute horror that I have a child almost ready to head off to preschool (I mean, when did he get this old? I swear I just had him!), I also am absolutely astounded at the process to GET your child into preschool.
When my son was a little over a year, my neighbor came to me with a packet of information from the preschool they took their girls to. She said, "You might want to start putting your name on the list now if they'll let you." Seriously - with a few years to spare?
The first house I grew up in was miles and miles from any town, let alone any school, and specifically a preschool. I can imagine my mom and dad scoffing at the idea of driving me twenty miles for an early education. When I busted my nose up on a cinder block at the age of three and had actually broken it, my parents opted not to take me to the hospital because the nearest one was almost thirty or more miles from our country home.
My education on the farm was fantastic, though. I wondered around the feedlot with my dad, feeding cattle, riding horses and playing with our big dog, Blitz. I followed behind my mom picking green beans in the garden. She had a giant coffee tin of buttons - all colors and sizes - and she'd help me sort them all. My mom painted the alphabet and the numbers up to ten on a wall in the basement, and I spent hours playing school and learning them myself. We read tons of books, listened to all kinds of music (every time I hear Dolly Parton's 'Jolene', I think of me dancing as a kid through the house).
With all of that said, it's hard for me to think that it took two years of work to get my son considered into a preschool. With the local community I live in booming with babies, there are waiting lists at virtually every place we looked at, even with our 'early' start.
I started investigating preschools. I started filling out applications (I mean, honestly!). When one place asked in their application what chores my son had around the house, I wrote: "He is the Master of Destruction - that is his job". I started making arrangements for school visits, trying to think of questions to ask, and feeling a little bit overwhelmed.
We applied at two schools. The first one being the place my neighbor suggested. The second one being one I'd found on my own, one that I thought my son would really do well with. I liked both places equally, and then hoped he'd just get into one.
So we waited.
Letter came from the first place about a month or so ago letting us know he'd be on the waiting list there. Translation: Sucks to be you.
I knew the second place would send out letters on March 12, and we'd likely receive the news on the 13th - which would be yesterday.
Mail truck came.
Big envelope (good sign) with a note handwritten on the front, "Welcome to 'NameofPreschool'!". I hate to admit it, but I squealed like a little girl and did a little dance. (ALL OVER PRESCHOOL!! Seriously!)
So ... one hurdle crossed. Now, we need to work on potty training and getting me through the "My baby is going to preschool" emotions that are bound to come along. He'll be ready for the next step, I don't doubt. I just hope I am, too.
