December 18, 2005 - why i took everett out of preschool -
I wrote about my decision to take Everett out of preschool at Blogging Baby. You should read it.
I'll say a few more things about my decision, here. I've been thinking a ton about it since receiving a bunch of supportive and interesting comments.
A few commenters mentioned when someone called the "tea party mentality" of many modern preschools. I think that mentality is thoroughly reflected in the Montessori programs I so wish my son was right for. I think that philosophy is firmly espoused by the teacher of the program Everett was a part of, as well as most of the children who attended.
Let me stop here and say that the tea party mentality is perfectly o.k. - for other parents. I admire it from afar. But I am not now, never was, never will be, a tea party parent.
I remember the weekend I decided I was ready to become a parent. I was visiting a couple that I'd only met a few times, friends of my ex-boyfriend's. They had a little boy, a redhead named Owen. He and I spent the morning chasing around the living room, much to his delight and the relieved sighs of his parents, 'cause someone else was helping him expend his energy.
I'm a little zany and energetic, I like to play games where I lift the boys up with my legs while I'm lying on the floor. They giggle wildly as I "fly" them around the mama sky. I let Everett jump on my back, sometimes, hurtling across the living room and landing on me, often knocking me over. I try not to get too mad 'cause if I was his age? That's what I would have wanted to do, too.
It's partly my fault and partly biology. My boys - especially Everett - haven't the nature or the nurture to channel their energy in a prim preschool class, four hours at a time, at this age. They need to take yoga and karate and track. They need to be getting their exercise, their nutrition, and a (*sigh*) better schedule.
I've been working so, so hard on the scheduling. It's not going super well. Today I was upset at Everett's daddy in the morning, he was too tired after working 'til 2 a.m. to get up for church. I needed his help, I wailed. Everett made a point of trying to make me laugh, told me he'd be good and not run off. He went to church and was good. He spent an hour chasing around the building with Simon, his favorite 11-year-old.
When we left, it was starting to snow, big excitement in the childrens' world. Everett was giddy. After he got too cold to dance around in the icy wonder any more, licking the air, and the steps, I asked if he wanted to go on errands with me. He did.
We headed out in the big important cold weather, talking about things and working together. We made it to Pastaworks (no wine bottles knocked off or broken... no screaming for candy... no unacceptable whining). We went to Powell's and he asked to go potty, going successfully without accident, even though we had to wait... then he only stayed 20 minutes, and agreed to leave without major complaint.
And then. Then Fred Meyer, the last little thing I needed. We were waylaid by the toy department. He wouldn't leave. I wouldn't stay all. day. looking at each separate toy. Cut to seven minutes later. I'm holding his limbs with all my might as he screams at the top of his lungs for me to let him go back to the toys. Cut to 20 minutes later. He's still crying, desperate, hot, sad. Another few minutes and he asks to "rest" on the floor. He's worn himself out. He wants me to pick him up. And everything is fine. He loves me, he puts his head on my shoulder sweetly. After 20 minutes of screaming, kicking, desperate anger.
We go home, we talk about it, I make sure he eats. I'm sure his blood sugar snapped and he couldn't control himself. If he was at preschool? This would have come out as agression toward the other kids, instead of at me. And instead of a terrific sense of embarrassment and concern that someone might call child services on me, I'd be left with once again having to feel terrible that another parent wanted to move her child from Everett's day so he wouldn't be such a bad influence.
For now, I think, he belongs at home. Where I can rule with an iron fist and a forgiving pair of shins. Where some days, I can let him sleep in and eat cookies for breakfast. Where we can use Nick Jr. and PBS Kids as preschool.
Plus, he can already spell his name and sing the alphabet song with perfect pitch. What more do you need from preschool?
everett can't go on any longer on fremont
