What Is There Not to Like About Preschool? I Don't Know, Ask My Daughter.

My three-year-old daughter goes to preschool three mornings a week for a total of eight hours and fifteen minutes of school weekly. Just about the right amount of time away from Mommy, if you ask me.

After picking her up from preschool, as I'm forcing buckling her into her car seat, I almost always ask, "How was school today? Did you have fun?" And just about every time she answers, "A little bit...not too much."

Whoa. Though I struggle to understand how it's possible, the reality is that my little lady does not like school.

My baby, about to begin her first
day of school

The very idea flabbergasts me. Painting! Dress up! Play-doh! Story Time! Playground! What's not to like? Okay, so Mommy isn't there, I get it...but how can having six other little girls around to play with (not to mention seven adorable boys) not be way better than one distracted mom who's always interrupting the game to answer the phone or check Facebook? 

We never had this problem with my son, who was always like, "YAY! SCHOOL TODAY! I LOVE SCHOOL!" from the moment I first dropped him off at Ms. Joan's class when he was two-and-a-half years old. He is a sweet, friendly kid, and the teachers would marvel at how easily he got along with everyone--he just as happily played kitchen with the girls as he did cars with the boys. 

I know I shouldn't compare my kids, but earlier this year, upon picking my daughter up at school, the teacher greeted me with, "Wow, your daughter and Millicent can really get into it with each other!" Apparently, the two girls had been fighting over who got to use the single pair of classroom binoculars. 

Don't be mistaken, my baby girl is a complete love--she's warm and affectionate (just ask her Grandpa, into whom's lap she climbs unbidden, or her Poppa, at whom she bats her eyelashes sweetly); quick as a whip; and, according to my father, the funniest of his five grandkids. Girlfriend knows how to work an audience, that's for sure. 

But school is not, apparently, her thing. So far she has chosen not to make a big deal about going in the mornings--there haven't been any fights about it. I suppose that could change, but hopefully it won't; since I can't relate to not liking school, I doubt I'd be able to deal with the issue properly. What's the best way to handle this? Being stern and forcing her to go? Letting her stay home? 

If it comes to that, I'll have to call in the expert on not liking school: her daddy.  

Elementary, My Dear Watson.

For the past few years, I've observed parents of soon-to-be Kindergarteners freaking out. What, I thought to myself every time, is the big freakin' deal?

Well, now I know. And, no, the big deal isn't that your "little man" or "baby girl" is embarking on a new phase of life or that his or her well-being will suddenly be in someone else's hands for most of the day. The big deal is the insane amount of forms to fill out, orientations to attend, and brochures to read.  

My five-year-old is starting Kindergarten in the Fall. And this past month alone, I've had three events to attend at the elementary school, plus numerous forms to sort through and complete. Registering your kid for K is practically a full-time job in and of itself. Medical forms, dental forms, tell-us-about-your-kid forms, please-join-the-PTA forms--it's never-ending. 

I'm pretty sure entering Kindergarten didn't require this much parental effort back in the olden days (the Seventies). Back then, K was just a half-day, and nap time was still a reality. Kindergarten then was more like how preschool is now. Play-Doh has been replaced with flash cards. Back in the Seventies, there was probably just a quick tour of the school and maybe a parents' night sometime in late August or early September.

But with four months to go before school even starts in the fall, I'm already stressed out. I know my son will do great--he's smart, friendly, kind, polite, and a voracious learner--so it's not him I'm worried about. No, I'm worried about ME. If this orientation process is any indication of the next 12 years to come, I'm going to have to start mentally preparing. 

And when I say "mentally preparing" I actually mean "stocking up on wine." It's going to be a long 12 years. Or maybe it'll go by in a flash. One or the other. Or both.