Preschool…

Before I go down this road, I should start out by saying that I did not attend preschool. I am not sure if it’s because I was at daycare and my parents knew I would learn that way, or if it just wasn’t really a thing when I was growing up. I did attend a Montessori program while we lived with my grandparents, but we lived with them for such a short time, that I barely remember it.

So K turned 3 in July. He’s always been our more easy-going boy, full of laughs, but very much so a mama’s boy. Like I have said, neither of my kids have gone to daycare, and we have never left them with anyone outside of family.

When looking at preschools, I wanted a preschool where I felt the teachers felt like a mom. I didn’t want to take out a second mortgage on my home just to afford a “reputable” program. To me, education starts at home. I am very well invested in their education and learning, as I see it starts with Kyle and I. I wanted something that was a small transition, I didn’t want him going for hours on end, 4 days a week. I just didn’t think he was ready for that. So I found the perfect environment. 2 days a week for 2 hours on Thursdays and Fridays.

I was beyond excited for the time it would give G and I alone to work on things like ABC’s, colors, numbers, etc. I felt like it had been more difficult to master this task than it was with K, maybe a personality thing, or maybe just the fact that at the time G was a newborn and slept a lot. Who knows.

Well, needless to say, preschool has turned into full blown melt downs every Thursday and Friday. It is literally breaking my heart. I hate that he doesn’t want to go. I hate that he cries every day at drop off. I can handle the stares and the pitiful looks I get from parents whose kids happily bounce into the classroom. The teacher even went as far to tell me he “may not be ready”. But I really don’t think he will ever be ready in terms of being away. He calms down immediately upon me leaving and always comes home full of smiles and talks about his friends he played with that day.

But I’m left to sit here and wonder what the solution to all of this is. See, we don’t really think taking him out and waiting a year is going to solve this problem. If anything, we know how smart he is, and I think he will realize what has happened, and come next year we will be doing the same thing. Except next year, he will say “but I didn’t have to go last time…”. On top of the fact that little brother will start next year at preschool. And he won’t even let a stranger touch him without tears and screaming.

I know so many people have their opinion on this. I know a lot of people close to us think I have created “this problem” due to the fact that I have never left them with a stranger, they depend on me too much, blah blah blah…. So what I’m left with is feeling alone emotionally, and I am not saying people don’t care, it’s just not their issue to handle. It’s a hard one for me to handle, because I was never the kid who cried. Even if I was scared, I sucked it up and forged forward. My husband was the kid who hid under his desk and cried every day, in first grade. He would have to be coaxed out with a baseball card from his P.E. teacher. He became the source of laughter in the teacher’s lounge. I don’t want that for my boys. But I wouldn’t change anything about them. They are who God intended them to be. I’m so sick of people trying to fit a 3 year old into a mold. He’s 3, not 30. Let him be 3!

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