Yup, preschool. (Insert some version of: Noooo! Mah preshus baybee is getting old! here). Last week, Steve, Bry, and I schlepped over to the U of M childcare center to do an "intake" meeting before Bry starts preschool. Five minutes into the meeting with his teacher, I knew we were in trouble. The signs that Bry is once again growing up faster than it feels like he's supposed to were all there. Bry played in his new classroom, while Steve and I were inundated with paperwork with titles like, "Dress for Success" (outlining age-appropriate clothing) and "All About Me" (a document for us to complete with Bry that discusses, among other things, his favorite color (blue), and if he had any wish, what he would wish for (pasta and fruit)). We were also handed a 30-page thick "curriculum" that demonstrated to us just how far behind we've been letting Bry slide this summer.
I kid.
But there were moments when Emilie, Bry's new teacher was talking, and Steve and I glanced sideways at each other, wondering if we hadn't accidentally signed Bry up for the 7th grade, instead of having him join the "younger preschooler" set. Mentions of things like social exclusion, teasing, overuse of "potty language," "increased independence," and place cards at breakfast, snack, and lunch (so teachers can control who sits by whom) set Steve and I reeling.
Later, when we got the tour of the classroom, we found out that Bry will have access to all manner of toys, like scooping beads in the sensory table, funky pyramidal blocks, and get this - paint - whenever he wants. Again, Steve and I glanced at each other and were all, "Are you sure that's a good idea?" The preschool playground sported a gigantic climbing structure, a DIY "treehouse" fashioned out of sticks tied to a platform, enormous sand pits, a box of dirt whose sole purpose is to be turned into mud, and an honest-to-goodness bike lane. All of the paved paths winding through the playground had arrows indicating the correct flow of traffic (an upgrade after one too many tricycle collisions). The teachers flood the slide with the hose on hot days so the kids can have a "water slide." There is a class pet, Miguel, a slightly overweight guinea pig. The kids go on field trips - to the city wading pool across the street, a neighborhood grocery store, and the nearby "train bridge."
Sounds like a heck of a good time, doesn't it? It almost seemed as if Emilie was trying to offset the heartache of things like social exclusion and teasing by waving her hands and exclaiming LOOK AT ALL THE FUN STUFF WE DO HERE! Steve and I were not fooled. Sure, we think Bry is going to love about 98% of preschool. But thoughts that other kids might be mean, or that Bry might have his feelings hurt were excruciating. The ongoing realization that Bry is growing up and away made both Steve and I ache, and long to keep him little, just a little bit longer.
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