I need to reread my Los Angeles Times essay published in '07. So much has changed in the last year and a half but the familiar "School" anxiety for the 4 year old has reared its ugly head again.
(Don't worry folks. My favorite anxieties are still lurking including the popular "I'm 41! What have I accomplished?" and now "What's up with my short term memory and inability to read small print?")
Toddler trauma
Drive yourself crazy with preschool
July 10, 2007
http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/la-oew-robertson10jul10,0,6234212.story
"Have you picked out a preschool?" My jaw would have hit the floor if it could get past my belly. My PREGNANT belly. "Ummmm…you mean school before kindergarten? In six years? " I asked innocently. "Oh no!" said the perky mom. "Preschool starts at two nine and if you're not on a list now...well…." She clutched her Baby Bjorn and hightailed it to an SUV adorned with a Mommy, Daddy, Baby and Kitty stick figure decal. The look in her eyes said I was probably carrying a serial killer or worse — an unpreschooled serial killer. My What to Expect When You're Expecting handbook was missing a chapter called "Expect to be asked about preschool ten times a day and judged on your answer."
Lots of things surprised me about becoming a parent. I thought baby-proofing was simply putting the bong away and covering electrical outlets. I couldn't image not being gung ho for sex. I swore I'd never be in public with vomit on my shirt. But the biggest shocker was the insanity surrounding TWO NINE!
What do those numbers mean? It's the magic age of two years, nine months when you can ship your crumb cruncher off to a preschool that will shape the course of their lives. Prison or Princeton? Teen pregnancy or Rhodes Scholar? According to some, it all depends on the preschool. For fun, I Googled preschools in the San Fernando Valley and got about nine billion hits. Luckily, you can throw a rock at the mall and hit a mother who has visited all of them.
I should have seen the signs of impending preschool hysteria at playgroup with my 3-month-old daughter. Playgroup is mostly eating pastry and talking about being tired. But it doesn't take long before a sleep deprived new mom starts waxing philosophical about her little mini-me's future. "I'd like Madyson to be an advocate for the environment!" said a minivan driver. I'd love to say, "Congressman Xander" cooed one delusional mother. Yikes — I didn't have a fantasy career in mind for my poop machine so I blurted out the only wish my husband and I had discussed: "I hope she's hot." A mom on four exclusive waiting lists shot me an icy glare. "I'm not sure what preschool she should attend to achieve that goal." I excused myself and said I had to fill out Sabrina's early admission papers for USC.
A preschool in Los Angeles can cost more than college, with prices ranging from really expensive to crazy expensive. Seriously, does snack time include a cheese course? Do art projects use Swarovski crystals? Once you've figured out how to pay tuition — cancel cable, pawn your grandmother's jewelry, sell plasma — there's a registration fee! This scam can cost fifty to five hundred bucks. I imagine the school administrator waving registration checks above her head and buying drinks for the whole bar. "Suckers," she'll slur as administrators high-five each other for inventing another way to squeeze money out of panicked parents.
And you don't choose a preschool — preschool has to choose you. Your two-year-old may have an admissions interview. I set up a mock interrogation, certain my kid would ace it. Elmo, Barney and one of the creepy Care Bears sat around the table. Question one: "What is your favorite color?" Sabrina didn't hesitate and shouted "Spiderman!" Thanks, Sony marketing department. Elmo showed us the door.
Before I got knocked up, my husband and I decided that I would quit my job (yippee!) and become a full time mom. Wasn't the payoff for living on one salary spending time with your kid? It's pretty cool. I get to look at Los Angeles' great parks, beautiful beaches, museums and cultural events with fresh eyes. Sabrina and I have a blast at music class and we love our Mommy and Me group. What would I do while she was at school? Laundry? Dusting? HA!
Occasionally, I have fantasies of leaving Sabrina at school. I'll turn off Radio Disney, listen to Howard Stern and say the "f" word out loud. But I'm not ready for that yet. Will she go to preschool? Sure. Will she be scarred for life and horribly disadvantaged if she doesn't attend a "top tier" preschool at two? I don't think so. I'm pretty sure my mom parked me in a play pen and waved a cigarette for stimulation during my preschool years, and yet I managed to achieve the American Dream — trapping a man to pay my bills. And to that end, we still hope that Sabrina turns out to be hot. Because no one cares where a smokin' chick went to preschool.
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2 comments:
Ok, I'm such a horrible friend. You asked for my comments and I totally forgot.
I love it. Great job. I read it to Jen and we were both cracking up!! I'm going to pass this on to our friend at the Gazette. I think she'd like it too.
OMG, I had this very same experience at my first official girls' night out for a friend's b-day when McLean was 3 mos. old. I was trying to talk to the birthday girl's friend who was also a mother about anything BUT breastfeeding, diapers, etc. by changing the subject to where she lives when she goes on and on about how she absolutely HATES where she lives, but she and her hub stay there because of their daughter's pre-school and it's a really good pre-school and it was such a hard pre-school to get into and where had I enrolled my baby in his pre-school? and I was all "Uhhhhh.... he's 3 months old" and she was all "OH, it's so late, you have to get on the waiting list while you are pregnant" blah blah blah, at which point my eyes glazed over and I immediately came to terms with the fact that well, I guess I will suck as a mother then because sorry, I'm not forking over thousands of dollars for my kid to play with clay and blocks and learn his colors and make me a picture frame out of popsicle sticks, WTF???
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