Preschool for mommies

I had heard, and come to expect, that dropping off my oldest daughter for her first day of preschool would be an emotional experience for me. Well, in case you don't know any pregnant women, emotions aren't hard to come by for us--even without a rite of passage like sending our babies off to the big bad world of four-year-olds and blocks and puzzles and play kitchens.

The emotions began on preschool day bright and early when the alarm rang for me to get up at 7:15am. And the name of the emotion was irritation at having to get up so early! What about my leisurely morning activities of munching Cinnamon Toast Crunch while checking blogs? Am I ready to give this up, all for my 4 year old’s happiness? Uh….I guess the answer should be a ready yes. Ask me again tomorrow.

The next emotion came when Sage absolutely insisted on picking her own outfit. Doesn’t she know the mother who is funding her two-days-a-week Happy Time gets to choose what she wears, and how many ponytails she gets to have that day? (Sage won on the outfit—a too-long shirt with a knee-length skirt. I won on the hair—3 ponytails instead of five.)

Emotions were flying when I hit northbound to SL traffic, and couldn’t even squeeze over to make great use of the carpool lane. Grrr. (Why did I just move to a big city, again? Oh yes, to learn patience behind the wheel.)

It was probably a blessing that I didn’t have time to get emotional or wax photographic about Sage heading into the front door of her new school, as we were already 7 minutes late.

I continued feeling emotional when we HAD to stop for drinks for both girls at the “tiny” drinking fountain on the way to class. And when we had to stop and point out every Dora or Diego backpack that we passed on the way. And, since this is a bilingual school, there were a LOT of Doras and Diegos. Perhaps they are the school mascots?

When we arrived at her classroom, Sage dove right in, leaving me feeling emotions I hadn’t expected. Doesn’t she want to hold my hand shyly in the corner for a few minutes? Doesn’t she want to beg me to stay, or at least come back soon? My pity party was short lived, as the teacher invited Eliza and me to stay for a while. Eliza was in heaven, and headed straight for the pile of stuffed animals in the reading corner, where she made herself at home more quickly than Sage did.

I felt uncharitable feelings when another mother tried to talk to me about fundraising for the school. I just wanted to watch how my baby (who apparently grew up when I wasn’t looking) was interacting in a bilingual preschool on her first day with strangers, not think about who would want to buy thousand-dollar paintings at an auction.

There was even time for embarrassment when I realized my Eliza was the one who was repeatedly beeping a toy during the circle song time. And then again when I found her stripping in the bathroom in front of the tiny urinal that stood about 3 inches off the ground. She threw a tantrum worthy of any 2-year-old when I insisted that she use the normal potty, and not the extremely accessible toilet that was just her size and right on her level and oh-so-inviting.

I was a proud mother hen when Sage put on her bravest face and initiated conversation with her teacher in Spanish. Once.

I was amused when Sage avoided the class bully that was stealing toys, but Eliza defied him and demanded that he stop taking her kitchen equipment.

I was an irritated pregnant woman when Eliza refused to leave (after an hour of joining in the festivities not intended for her for another year or two), and I got to repeat that emotion when we came back for Sage an hour later.

When the longest 3 hours of my life were over, on the drive home, I asked Sage about her day. She glowed as she made her report. “Mom, we got to play in the playground that’s only for preschoolers!” I told her that was great, and asked what the teachers taught her. “Stuff. And when we were on the playground, the boys got on the hippo with the big mouth, but the girls got on the caterpillar!” Wow. Did you speak Spanish to any kids? “Yeah. And I loved all those slides…”

Which left me wondering why I am paying for preschool, and enduring all this emotional constipation, when it appears all Sage needs is a good public park to make her day?

Well, probably because I’m the one who needs the schooling in Emotions 101. Do they offer support groups, or even preschools for mothers with separation anxiety? Because after preschool, there’s kindergarten. And then middle school. And high school. And college. And let’s just hope they all have great playgrounds, and offer parental counseling.