Preschool and the Pretty Please List

I went to a parent co-operative preschool from the ages of 2 to 4 and have nothing but fond memories of my time there. So naturally I couldn’t wait for Charlotte to go to the magical land of glitter play-doh, splatter painting, and most importantly, a place I’m not in charge of cleaning.

So many things were running through my head as I held hands with my little girl and walked her through those seemingly metaphorical rainbow gates. We already have everything we could ever dream of, but here is my pretty please list for preschool:

Pretty please don’t let my kid be that kid: the follower, the smelly, or the screamer.

Pretty please don’t let me be that parent. I promise not to become the PTA president (at least not this year). And please grant me the ability to do all my worrying and crying in the privacy of my own car.

Pretty please don’t let me slip further than a 5 on the “Anal-Retentive Scale of Worry”. I pray preschool doesn’t keep me up at night hallucinating about giant colonies of head lice and rogue strains of bacterial meningitis.

Pretty please don’t pick up any new swear words, bite marks or bad behavior.

Now go forth and shine as bright as the twinkle little stars we must incessantly sing about. 

Toddler Logic

Welcome to the world of toddler logic. It is frustrating and confusing and then whatever your children are feeling. If your idea of a great time is arguing about trying to find the purple cup that makes the “slurpy slurpy” noise at 7am, boy is this the age group for you. I have spelled out for you a few pieces of “logic” that my two and a half year old has taught me along the way.

Toilet paper goes in the potty therefore ALL the toilet paper goes in the potty.

If at first you don’t succeed, try screaming.

It is either wonderful or terrible and can be nothing in-between.

Slide traffic can get backed up, so I’ll just have to climb up harder.

If I hold out long enough in public, somehow I can always earn a lollipop.

Because everyone is always telling me to share...

I get a band aid if I pout, point and say “boo boo” and two if the spot of my injury quickly relocates.

Once you can begin to decipher their logic everyone’s life becomes easier, except of course yours.

Tips for a Babysitter

One of the realest moments in motherhood thus far, second only to when my children were actually coming out of me, was leaving them with a babysitter. I have accepted that I am old enough to now be someone’s mother, but how can I be old enough to need a babysitter?

It has taken tiny-micro steps to get here since my children are certifiably obsessed with me, which sounds endearing and lovely until I actually need to walk out the door. If I could go back in time and tell my 13 year old babysitting self the following forms of flattery and finesse, I could have charged a whole lot more than $5 an hour:

1). Your kids are brilliant and independently-minded, which is obviously a testament to your exceptional parenting abilities.

2). Your children are gorgeous and even though they are Caucasian, they could be in Gap ads.

3). I was able to find everything I needed because of your Martha Stewart, and not at all Type A, organizational skills.

4). We ran laps at the park because I knew it would help them sleep well for you tonight.

5). While your kids were sharing beautifully, I took it upon myself to mop the floor, fold the laundry (minus your undies, because, well, boundaries) and cook you dinner.

6). Lastly, and most importantly, absolutely no new developmental milestones were reached while you were gone.