Back when I was still working at a pre-bust dot com and was pregnant with Drama Princess, I had full intention of doing the whole daycare/private school route. I'm not a 'little kid person' and this was very appealing. Well, the VC's dropped out and the dot com tanked. I'm in my third trimester and unemployable. Why yes, we'd love to have you on our payroll for 2 days and then pay for your maternity leave! Please, sign here! And dammit, here's a signing bonus just 'cause.
Fast forward around two years. Drama Princess has been in a big playgroup for around a year. The moms and kids are fun and entertaining. I think I can really relax now. This motherhood crap isn't as tough as I thought. But. Wait. Everybody is going into preschool now. Preschool? At age 2? What the hell kind of place is Maryland? Back in Florida we just let the kids drool all over themselves until kindergarten. Okay, maybe that was just me.
Drama Princess enters a very nice preschool with many of her playgroup friends. The other moms did a fine job researching different schools and I am all about coat tails. I mean, *my* research also supported their findings. (Read: Mmmm, this chocolate tastes good and Hey! the dart landed on the same preschool that the other moms are going to! I wonder if I should be letting my two year old play with metal tipped darts... that's what preschool's for, right?)
Two years of watching my formerly sweet baby learn to dig her miniature heels in and assert herself as the queen of contrary. The other kids brought home little pictures with glittery macaronis glued in the shapes of letters and numbers. Mine? A single non-glittery macaroni. On the bottom of her backpack. With a bite impression. The other kids would race to their parents and whisper about the one that was put in timeout. Mine? The one they were whispering about. But not always. Sometimes she sat by the boys that were in timeout and would pat them on the back "because they were sad and didn't mean to be bad" That's my daughter. She likes the misunderstood bad boys. The other kids would bring home glowing progress reports at midterm and end of year. Mine? "N/S" That stands for not shown. For two years. Did she know her numbers and letters and shapes and colors? Yes. She could read. Would she in any way, shape, or form demonstrate that for her teachers? Hell to the no.
At the last parent/teacher conference the following year, the teacher leaned over and grasped my forearm and with great concern said she didn't know how Drama Princess was going to survive kindergarten. I said I had been contemplating homeschooling. (I hadn't really given it that much thought at the time, but I felt a little cornered) She released my arm and gave out a big sigh of relief. And so it began.
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5 comments:
Really, who wants glittery macaroni anyway?
I had the only kid who refused to sign the class rules in kindergarten. He told his classmates not to sign because most of them couldn't read what they were agreeing to.
I enjoy reading your blog!
Sandra, you are too funny. That was a hilarious post. You are an excellent writer and a great storyteller. Blog on, sista!
Patty, at first I thought it's gotta be my Andrew, that kindergarten thing just sounds soooo Andrew. But then, I thought, uh, no, Grace. It's gotta be Grace. Then, what about Boo? In the end, the only thing I could decide for sure was what great and strong kids you have and what a great job you are doing. Live strong, baby, I don't know how you do it. Love to you.
I bet I know what that teacher was thinking.....
Too funny. And poignant. You paint pictures with your words.
Finally a blog from this one! More please.
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