Preschool Speed Dating

For parents of little ones, the cold winter months mean mitten-wrangling, enthusiastic/tragic snow adventures, and brainstorming indoor activities until we give up and watch too much television. For some of us, they mean something more: a quasi-athletic adult event of scheduling, schmoozing, wringing emotions, and financial talk. Yes, it's eight months ahead of time and yes, my daughter is only two, but around here the game has begun. It's Speed Dating of the Preschool World. 

Here's how it goes:
Round One. Open houses. Me and a room full of name tag-adorned parents stand towering above tiny tables. Despite, or rather because of my imposing size in proportion to the minature-scale room, I feel like a trespasser in a secret world. I clutch the pamphlet in my hand like a security blanket and tread lightly. I gaze at walls of colorful abstract art and admire knitted masterpieces and chuckle through sample journals. I eyeball buckets of sensory toys and tap on terrarium glass. I find myself simultaneously grinning with excitement and mourning the idea that someone else will be educating Nug now. I wrestle those emotions until I sit and listen to school philosophy from a charming school administrator. Check out our art supplies and our natural-scape playground and the importance of dramatic play! Our snacks are always wholesome, and we have monthly parenting education, and we believe in re-direction and time-in, and, of course, we love your child already. By the time she finishes, I am hazy under her influence, my eyes wide in disbelief at the immaculate wonder of this particular preschool. My god, look at all we've been missing! This place is perfect for Nug! 

Round Two. Courtship by alumni parents. Just when you think your affections have been won by a certain school, you start hearing The Community Talk. Now, I admit, gossip is persuasive. Especially when there are a million-and-one preschools and there are just two months with which to sort them and I'm under a little time crunch called "I'm having a baby in six weeks." It's a game to juggle the enthusiasm of experienced parents with my brief, amateur encounter at a school. At the same time, I tell myself, this is just preschool. Let's not get too crazy; scissors and rain puddles blow my kid's mind.

Luckily my daughter is amazing(!) and will thrive in any preschool environment. I've narrowed our potential suitors down through a highly rigorous system: no am traffic, no religion, a dedicated preschool, and no more than three days a week. This leaves me with five schools. This is already double the number of colleges I applied to, and it's overwhelming. With philosophies, time commitments, costs, discipline methods etc to consider, shuffling through even this small deck is a process. So I'm taking the approach of one of my genius mom friends who travelled schools through the eyes of a toy hippo. Here's my attempt at applying her wisdom, although with a toy elephant, because Elephant trumps Hippo in Nug's world. Duh.

If Nug takes her elephant to the large, popular cooperative school...
it will be welcomed by a herd of playful elephants, enjoy a variety of stimulating watering holes, and live in a wildly colorful savannah. It will learn to co-exist with many species and soak in elephant games like art, Spanish, and music. It will drink milk and eat healthy snacks.

If she takes her elephant to the Waldorf school...

it will be welcomed by a gathering of soothing elephants made out of sticks and shells, make a watering hole out of real dirt, and live in a natural-light savannah of brown hues. It will eventually be replaced with a new elephant of sticks and shells, and asked to create its own elephant games while exploring outside for an hour. It will eat the bread that it baked itself. 

If she takes her elephant to the nursery school cooperative in the hippie town next door...

I love the internet

it will become her new family, have plenty of watering holes, and live in a cozy, homey savannah. Curiosity over the gender of elephant will be encouraged, and it may receive diversity training. It will enjoy music, art, drama, and exploring, but the elephant's parents may be too busy on their required committee to notice. It will drink hormone-free milk and will be offered kale.

So what's next for our elephant? I almost forgot about Round Three: applications. After all of the sorting and searching, we still have to be chosen! Yes, this is ridiculous. My university had lower standards for acceptance (the joke was: a completed application and a pulse. Go Lumberjacks!). And. AND. I hear from The Community that Nug may not even get into school because of the demand! Then what? My little social Nug and my tired introverted self are both FOAMING AT THE MOUTH for her to start preschool. Unfortunately, that look isn't a great speed dating first impression. 

For now, I apply. Then we wait and see who has room for one Really Great Elephant. 

(it's a dinosaur, but use your imaginations people)