Preschool-Shop 'til You...Co-op

(This will be my last post about preschool for a while, I swear.)

Way back when we were first looking at preschools (ages ago, in January), my online activity became almost entirely focused on searching for information about schools. The Web sites all started to look the same. The curriculum guides, "Parents' Corners," and Comic Sans began to blend together.

One site that stood out - and not just for its lack of godawful fonts - was the homepage for a local co-op preschool. The descriptions of the programs and activities made me wish I could go there. (Oh, wait - it's co-op, so I sort of could.) And the school was definitely in our budget. Moreso than anything else I'd found.

The only problem? The registration deadline was the next day.

I thought briefly about calling the school and trying to schedule a tour that same day, but even if the school could accommodate us on such short notice, first-trimester fatigue was making it hard to hurry off to anywhere. So I debated. I agonized. I called Rob. And then I sent the school and application form and a check, sight unseen.

With so few open spots and a next-day deadline, I figured why not? And then I promptly forgot about it the whole thing. (And shortly afterwards, I decided very deliberately to forget about the whole preschool thing altogether.)

And then the check cleared. And we received a postcard telling us Westley is enrolled for fall. Welcome to Preschool!

* * *

We still haven't visited the school, which seems a little nuts. But then I remember that I applied to college having never visited the campus or spoken to any current students or alumnae, which seems even more nuts. And that worked out spectacularly well. So I'm hoping this will be turn out to be a good thing also. And I guess if it's not, I might actually be able to do something about it. That's what a co-op is all about, right?

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Epiblogue: Preschool-Shop 'til You Drop

I have decided to put preschool shopping on the back burner for now. I'm dropping it before I drop.

After contacting a local co-op preschool that works for our budget (though perhaps not for our timeline) and not hearing back, I had a cartoon-lightbulb-over-head realization:

If we can't afford preschool, we can't afford preschool.

It's really very simple. And there's not a reason to worry about it. There are plenty of things that I'd like for my family, my child, myself...but that are out of our price range. There is absolutely zero point in worrying about where I'll find money in the budget when there isn't anything to find!

The more important realization came later, when I'd come to terms with the budget numbers and heaved more than a few sighs of disappointment. It occurred to me that the preschool hunt had been making me anxious to the point of not being a very nice person. And my kid - who was supposed to be benefitting from all of this - was picking up on it like crazy. The more anxious I got, the more anxiety Westley seemed to exhibit.

I have some wonderful memories of my own preschool experience, and I'd still like some sort of (gently) structured pre-school environment for Westley (because I think he'd love it after he got over his distaste for "uh-ver chirren.") But I'm not willing to continue to create a bunch of unnecessary stress for myself and (especially!) him over it.

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Preschool-Shop 'til You Drop

All I can think about right now is preschool - where, what kind, how much (holy fuck) - and it's exhausting. Rob, Westley, and I have gone on just two preschool tours so far, and I'm ready to give up the search. Not because we've found the right one so quickly, but because I feel completely overwhelmed and out of my element.

I'm sure all of the Good Mommies out there knew before their children were conceived that preschools have "philosophies." And furthermore, they knew what kind of "philosophy" best fit their life and parenting style. I, on the other hand, thought preschool was all about sitting on colorful rugs, learning to trust a teacher, dress-up corner, blocks...

Not true, it turns out.

Preschool, it turns out, is about things like "academic excellence" and "positive and productive emotional abilities" (huh?), and "increased competency." That seems like an awfully monosyllabic world for my 3-year-old.

Also, preschool costs a hundred million dollars. I was well-aware that any kind of childcare or child-oriented program out there - whether it's school, music lessons, science camp, whatever - would be pricey. But holy mother of God! It's truly a hundred million skillion dollars to send your child to preschool!

"Maybe preschool is designed for the two-income household," Rob speculated.

"But that's way more than I would make if I were working!" I pointed out, blinking at the Tuition page.

I'm also realizing that not only am I not one of the Good Mommies who majored in Preschool Philosophy and who has zillions of dollars sacked away for her child's education, I've also completely dropped the ball on preparing Westley for school. I haven't been drilling him on washing hands or dressing himself, for instance. He has no interest in playing with or even near other children. In fact, he loudly objects to it and will "shoot" peers who try to befriend him.

"That's not how to make friends," I tell him gently when he lashes out at other children.

"I can't pway with uh-ver chirren!" he insists. "I hate uh-ver chirren!"

Oh, yes. I completely dropped the ball on that one. I've gotten so lost in the care-and-feeding part of this job that I have completely neglected the "socializing" part. (Which might also explain why I have zero local friends.) Of course, preschool will presumably help with that.

You know, if we can rustle up a million dollars to pay for it.

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