Through The Looking Glass

Grace attends a co-op preschool. Basically that means tuition is cheaper than many schools because parents serve volunteer days which saves the school the cost of hiring another teacher. It also means parents are VERY involved at the school. It gives us a chance to observe our kids in action and meet their little friends and parents. I think I might be the school's biggest cheerleader. Their teachers are kind and compassionate, firm but not pushovers--exactly what my kid needs.

Last year, I used to dread my volunteer days. Luke was still so little and nursing so I would bring him with me. I loaded him into the front pack and went about helping to manage a class full of two year olds. This is no small task. Heading off tantrums, managing the play doh table, making sure no one was eating glue, and lots and lots and lots of hugs was routine.

This year Luke is, of course, much bigger so today I left him with a babysitter while Grace and I headed out for our big day. I have to say I was really, really curious to see how much, if, they had changed in a year. Her class is largely intact with a few new faces so I was pretty excited to see the new routine and spend time with some of my favorites. Joseph is without a doubt my little boyfriend. You might remember him from last year as the little boy who yelled "God Damnit!" when he couldn't get into his push car. The kid is a real riot and we're new best friends. He texts me every hour now.

I was relieved to see they no longer eat play doh or paste (Charlie might--I'm not clear what was in his mouth) or cry nearly as much but their tantrums are still there (and man are they violent!) and they all still need lots and lots and lots of hugs. Last year, there was a craft--if they wanted to. A story--if they wanted to. Organized games--if they wanted to. This year, there is no more "if you want to." It's interesting to see how the teachers are easing them into a world of rules, regimens, and routines.

What's really interesting is to watch Grace. Grace is meepy for drop off. I'm not sure why but she's very clingy and usually a teacher takes her for me. She doesn't cry--she just meeps. But when I pick her up she screams for me to go away (that's a great feeling!). Grace walks a funny line between being Miss Independent and Miss Meepy. It's hard to figure out which one you'll be getting.

I worry about Grace at school. All parents worry about their kids at school to a certain extant. It's a hard feeling to get over leaving your child with someone else to care for them. It's even scarier when they have a life-threatening allergy. I don't say this to be dramatic but it's our reality and I try not bitch about it. This isn't a bitch blog but it is our life and sending Grace off to school was a choice we made (she didn't have to go) because it's where she wants to be. I don't think she'd have it any other way.

What most surprised me today about Grace is that she holds her own. She will not be pushed or bullied. A number of boys are pushers and gave her some good shoves but man--she was right back in their face with a few good pops. I silently cheered while trying to redirect the pushers. When her turn was inadvertently skipped, she spoke right up--not rudely--firmly--with a look in her eyes that said I know it's mine. Another silent "good for you Grace."

She can be just as crazy as the other kids and just as confusing. Her teacher is "Mrs. MacFarland"--"Farland" to Grace. But there is also an assistant teacher she also refers to as "Farland." I was wondering why we never heard anything of Mrs. Dorshimer. . .

Three year olds are a hoot. They're also complicated. On the outside they look like such big kids but on the inside they really are still so little. Volunteering at school today has encouraged me to adjust my expectations with Grace (she seems perfectly normal now). Her teachers (the "Farlands") commented a few times after funny things happened or were said "That's why I love the 3's" and it did remind me they are pretty cool little people if they would just stop asking me "why?" over and over and over. . . .