First Day of Preschool
Today was Abbie’s first day of preschool. It’s the first step in a long process to get her out of the house. This year, she’s out of the house ten hours a week. Maybe next year we can work up to 15 hours a week.
I expected a momentous change with this event. It’s Abbie’s first experience outside the home, and beyond the gaze of her loving and sometimes scolding parents. I thought she might have trouble saying goodbye, that maybe she’d cry uncontrollably as we tried to leave the room without her. Or maybe she’d feel uncomfortable in a new environment, surrounded by strange toys, forced to interact with peers that will fight back if she pushes or steals from them, unsure of what mischief she could get away with.
Mommy and I both dropped her off at preschool this morning. One of us could’ve done the job, but it felt like an event we should both witness. Mommy walked her into the classroom while I stood at the doorway with the boys in the stroller. While we prepared for the sobbing separation, Abbie toddled over to the toys and staked her claim to the cash register before anyone else could lay their grubby mitts on it. Mommy and I watched for a minute, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement. Abbie stayed with the register, the boys were growing bored, and so we left.
Mommy drove to work, and I drove the boys back home. We had 90 minutes at home before needing to return for Abbie. We spent the time sitting around, waiting for the expected emergencies that never arose, and marveling at the sudden quiet.
I was anxious to pick her up and hear about her day. The teacher walked her to our car, shrugged, and said she did “pretty good.” That’s better than “never bring her back.” Her only problem was during group time. While everyone else gathered around for a story, Abbie went into a corner and cried. I’m guessing she was upset that she couldn’t choose the book, turn the pages, hold the book, and otherwise dominate story time as she does at home. Like I said, this is her first experience outside the home, so I imagine she’ll adjust to not being the constant center of attention.
Abbie spent much of the afternoon holed in her room. Preschool probably wore her out, and she needed time to recover. I drug her out a few times to play with her, and let her know that she’s still loved. Ian shoved her a few times to bait her into chasing him, which is probably his way of saying that she’s loved as well.
I expected a momentous change with this event. It’s Abbie’s first experience outside the home, and beyond the gaze of her loving and sometimes scolding parents. I thought she might have trouble saying goodbye, that maybe she’d cry uncontrollably as we tried to leave the room without her. Or maybe she’d feel uncomfortable in a new environment, surrounded by strange toys, forced to interact with peers that will fight back if she pushes or steals from them, unsure of what mischief she could get away with.
Mommy and I both dropped her off at preschool this morning. One of us could’ve done the job, but it felt like an event we should both witness. Mommy walked her into the classroom while I stood at the doorway with the boys in the stroller. While we prepared for the sobbing separation, Abbie toddled over to the toys and staked her claim to the cash register before anyone else could lay their grubby mitts on it. Mommy and I watched for a minute, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement. Abbie stayed with the register, the boys were growing bored, and so we left.
Mommy drove to work, and I drove the boys back home. We had 90 minutes at home before needing to return for Abbie. We spent the time sitting around, waiting for the expected emergencies that never arose, and marveling at the sudden quiet.
I was anxious to pick her up and hear about her day. The teacher walked her to our car, shrugged, and said she did “pretty good.” That’s better than “never bring her back.” Her only problem was during group time. While everyone else gathered around for a story, Abbie went into a corner and cried. I’m guessing she was upset that she couldn’t choose the book, turn the pages, hold the book, and otherwise dominate story time as she does at home. Like I said, this is her first experience outside the home, so I imagine she’ll adjust to not being the constant center of attention.
Abbie spent much of the afternoon holed in her room. Preschool probably wore her out, and she needed time to recover. I drug her out a few times to play with her, and let her know that she’s still loved. Ian shoved her a few times to bait her into chasing him, which is probably his way of saying that she’s loved as well.
posted by Matt at
11:40 PM
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