On Not Sending My Child To Three-Year-Old Preschool

It’s partly because I didn’t call in time. I know, I know. A teacher letting her own child’s education fall by the wayside to focus on more, uh, important things? Absurd. Preposterous. Tsk to the mother freaking tsk.

One would not expect such inexcusable oversight from yours truly, but one would be wrong.

To be fair, we did discuss it. Geoff and I weighed the pros and cons in a conversation that lasted all of three hasty minutes punctuated by various requests for juice and crayons and Caillou. We acknowledged its value and agreed that Savannah was probably ready, that the mental stimulation and social interaction were right up her wise little alley.

Then, in a moment that left as quickly as it came, we chose not to. He went outside to mow and I sauntered off to change another diaper – a silent, mutual understanding that she’d start when she was four materializing somewhere in the space between us. There was a possibility we’d discuss it again, that the decision wasn’t entirely final, but the days raced by and the deadline passed and time, as it often does, solidified our choice.

There were reasons, of course – transportation conflicts and sitter arrangements, to name a few – but we spent minimal time addressing them, avoiding entanglement in their trivial web.

We allotted one-hundred-and-eighty seconds of our lives to determining the preschool fate of our three-year-old and both of us – even as the world posts adorable pictures of their three-year-olds on the first day of school (oh my god, you guys, is there anything cuter than a baby with a backpack?) – have yet to regret it.

She plays constantly, immersing herself in imaginative worlds where stuffed animals talk and dress-up clothes turn girls into princesses. Her fingers manipulate puzzle pieces and book pages with gentle care, so as not to break the magic. When it’s warm out, she draws hopscotch grids on the patio and runs over them with her bike. She takes her shoes off at the park to squish sand between her toes and builds muddy castles that her sister is never allowed to touch.

And as I watch her, I wonder … Isn’t this enough?

Isn’t play enough?

I have nothing against three-year-old preschool. Shoot, if Geoff and I would’ve been a little more organized (parents of the year!) we may have ended up sending Savannah after all. It’s just that I’m kind of okay with stretching her childhood as far as it will go, even if that means snubbing the current expectation of when a kid should start school.

One day she’ll learn to read and write and make friends and follow directions because all kids – even the ones who don’t attend preschool – eventually do.

But not today, because today is for sandboxes.

And those tiny toes covered in warm, coarse pebbles?

Today they’re enough.

School

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