I thought I was normal, but the more I trust my instincts in parenting, the more off the grid I feel.
My latest conundrum is figuring out Max’s preschool. He turns three this spring, so I was hoping to enroll him in a nice Montessori school this fall for a few mornings a week. I think the socialization and planned lessons would open up doors to him. The trouble is: I am beginning to question whether real preschools exist anymore. There are a lot of all day, everyday programs aimed at working parents, but I suspect they are more daycare than preschool. Little people have limited attention spans, so I doubt that they are actually working a curriculum for eight hours a day. I am glad that mothers who work outside the home have quality, educational programs for their children, but I wish there was something appropriate for mine.
I worked as a middle school and high school teacher for four years. My mother has a masters degree in Early Childhood Education and used to run a preschool out of our house. To be honest, I might be homeschooling our children. That was never my intention, but if we can’t afford a great private school, I am afraid that the public schools near us aren’t good enough. Our intention was to enroll Max in a preschool program for ages 3-4. At five we would make our decision about his academic path, but now I might be forced into a homeschool preschool.
Did I mention that all the preschool programs start at the beginning of August? We were hoping to visit Nana then, but now we might have to schedule our vacations around the school calender? It just seems too early. Max is only two. Yes, he’ll be three in August, but let’s not rush over his childhood. He is a two year old boy who spends his days with his mama and his little brother. We paint, visit the library, play outside, dance, cook together, and play trucks. Isn’t he entitled to a little bit more of this aimless free space to develop naturally?
I don’t want to deprive my children of any advantage, but I’m questioning whether dumping our kid on these new cultural norms is the right thing to do. I want him to socialize. I want him to be engaged in lessons and ideas I might not think of or might not have the time to prepare. I want him to have friends, circle time, and exciting adventures to tell me about when he gets home. But I don’t want him to live his days separate from Jack or me. Not yet.
Still, is my alternative to take away all the good things school has to offer him? The furrow in my brow worried this as we walked to the library, or library book as Max insists it’s called. It was closed. Drats! That was our afternoon activity. We headed home a different route where we had to cross a big field. Usually we have a ball when we walk across the field, but since this wasn’t the plan, I didn’t have one. Double disappointment for Max. No books. No ball.
“Come on, Max. Let’s run!”
“No run. I want ball.”
“We don’t have a ball, but we can still run.”
“No!”
We had to do something, so I decided to play mama duck and trudged across the field, hoping my ducklings would follow. Jack happily obliged. Max sullenly dragged his feet.
“Hey look!” I pointed to the long aluminum bench in the middle of the field where soccer teams sit. “See that bench. Let’s go!”
That was all it took. Max and Jack tore across the field. Max proceed to climb on it, then walk the line to practice his balance and dismount with an impressive jump. Jack followed suit with overprotective me along side to catch any missed step. They took turns and cheered each other on. Max even tried to lift Jack up for his turn. Soon Matchbox cars came out of pockets and made a raucuus down the metal bench. The cars went flying through the air, a great privilege because these are usually inside toys and aren’t allowed to be thrown.
“Hey,” said Max, tossing his car in the air. “I throw the car up. It comes down.”
He threw it again.
“Yes, Max,” I said. “You’re right. What comes up must come down. That’s Einstein’s theory of relativity.”
I almost cried. It was that perfect.
We spent another hour in the field, running in a circle, dropping cars down a cone, getting caught in the goalie’s net. Then we went home, washed our hands, and sat on the kitchen floor drinking ice water together. A quick French story about a zoo was followed by a nap so I could sit here and write this. They are stirring. I promised juice and tricycles, so I need to close.
But first let me say this. I’m not sure what will end up happening with their education. I have a bit more investigating to do. I’ll keep you posted. I do know this: I want him to have the space to discover physics all on his own. Call me selfish if you want, but I want a front row seat to his next great discovery.
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