55 Days and Counting

I received Abbie’s preschool registration papers yesterday. The first thing I read after opening the envelope was her start date. In seven weeks, she begins attending preschool four mornings a week.* The enormity of this change started to hit me as I pored through the dozen pages to read. It’s a bittersweet time: It’s good for Abbie that she gets to leave my side and explore the world outside our house, but it’s bitter for me knowing that I still have two years before I can send the boys out the door too.

I’d like to draw on my experiences as a child to help Abbie’s transition, but I don’t think I attended preschool. I do remember spending my early years in a daycare 25 years ago. Obviously my memories are a bit hazy from that age, even though I swear I can clearly remember our family vacation to Mt Rushmore when I was 23-months-old. The highlight of the trip was getting a new inflatable animal raft for me to use in the hotel pool. I also asked my father if we were in Russia at one point. I’m sure he was as confused by that question at the time as I am now looking back on it.

Anyway, I attended a daycare run from the local community college that entertained maybe 40 kids. My grandmother was one of the teachers at the daycare, which afforded me extra privileges, such as a sympathetic shoulder to cry on when one of the jerks bit me. I remember watching movies, reading, singing, playing outside, eating snacks, and doing everything in my toddler power to avoid falling asleep at naptime. Oh, and they let us play with real hammers, nails, and wood, which doesn’t seem so smart in retrospect.

I imagine Abbie’s preschool will be similar, except for the sharp and blunt metal toys of course. Kids still love to sing and snack. I can tell a few things will be different just from the paperwork they sent, though.

Privacy seems to be a big concern. I have to give my consent for the school to share Abbie’s name, picture, address, and phone number with the other parents. In my daycare days, everyone just showed up on the phone list. We were essentially required to attend everyone else’s birthday parties, and to invite everyone to ours. The only option for parents who didn’t want to keep buying gifts for other children was to regift everything from their child’s birthday party.

Medical issues are a big concern. I’m sure they were 25 years ago, but some new things have popped up. The form has a box to check if my child suffers from ADD/ADHD. I can’t imagine any preschooler already having such a diagnosis.

One form asked what kind of discipline works best with my child. I’m guessing that 25 years ago, they just assumed that a swat in the pants works well with everyone. I’m going to have to hurry up and find an effective form of discipline for her, or I might have to leave that spot blank, or wish them good luck. Threats and/or revoking privileges won’t deter her. She refuses to stay put for timeouts. Yelling loud enough will at least startle her long enough to stop misbehaving for a second, so maybe I’ll write that.

There’s a question asking if my child is potty trained. I imagine my day care teachers didn’t want to deal with diapers either. I’m glad that they asked instead of simply telling me she must be potty trained, as that offers a glimmer of hope that they might still take her if she’s in diapers. We need to get her potty trained, though, because I don’t want to know what the school will do if she’s still in diapers. My sanity needs those four mornings a week.

* Coincidentally, the Meet the Teacher day is my birthday. Happy birthday to me.