A Heartfelt Letter to Preschool

Dear Preschool,

I can't believe we've been together this long.  Remember when we first met?  It was fall of 2005.  Andrew was not quite yet two years old.  You really weren't on my radar yet; but Andrew would say no words except animal sounds (which I thought should count as words but that snotty speech therapist said otherwise), so we thought maybe you would help expose Andrew to lots of other kids talking and get him to do the same.

Preschool, it was love at first sight.  I was so very, very swollen and elephantlike pregnant with Adam; and Andrew was like a little toddler shark, always moving, moving, moving.  All I wanted was to sit motionless on the couch and mentally telegraph eviction notices to my enormous unborn child, and, Preschool, you gave me six hours a week to do just that.  And then Adam was born over Christmas break, and in January you graciously welcomed Andrew back into your loving arms *right when Daddy went back to work!*  And I got to shower.  And nap.  And try to figure out if the hospital had given me the wrong baby (but that is a letter for another time).  And it was glorious.  Preschool, I have never loved you more.

Oh, Preschool, it wasn't all love and light between the two of us.  I gave you "The Adam Years."  Those time-out chairs sure got a workout being thrown across the floor like that, didn't they?  Heh, heh, heh.  And, really, I cannot apologize enough for the "Running Away at the Strawberry Farm" incident.  (Note to self:  probably still not too late to send Miss Martha a bottle of good wine.)  There were the days when, for whatever random reason, my children would cling to my leg to prevent my leaving and your teachers would have to remove them using the jaws of life while ten or twelve little classmates watched in horror. 

But you must admit, Preschool, you gave as good as you got.  Your halls are admittedly a breeding ground for every form of childhood crud, no matter how your teachers chase down their charges with "hanitizer."  We certainly received our fair share of viral "gifts" from you!  And the stuffed animals and their journals you love to send home to overwhelmed mothers whose own children's baby journals should look so good have almost broken my spirit on more than one occasion.  In fact, Libby just brought home word that there is a stuffed monkey threatening to come here one random Thursday this year and he will be bringing his journal.  (We'll just see about that, Mickey.)  And do not get me started on the Thanksgiving banquets.  Just do not.

However, I think you will agree that ours has been, in the words of my cousin Molly, "a true love affair." But it will soon come to an end.  Libby, our little caboose, will go to kindergarten next year, and our relationship will be over.  Now that our last child has started her last year with you, I find myself a little nostalgic.  Time for a little trip down memory lane.

Andrew's first preschool Thanksgiving banquet with Grandma Betsy

 

Andrew and Seth at the 2-year-old class Thanksgiving program

 

Andrew and Adam before preschool one morning

 

modeling backpacks

 

Andrew and his buddies at preschool graduation

 

 Adam and Cocoa, the first of the $*@%! stuffed animals

Adam at (yet another) Thanksgiving program

 

Libby's first day of preschool!

 

Adam at the best. preschool. graduation. EVER.

 

Libby.  Our last preschooler's last "first day of preschool."  (sniffle)

Preschool, I would like to thank you and your wonderful teachers and directors:  Miss Veronica, Miss Oh-My-Goodness-What-Was-Veronica's-Helper's-Name-That-Was-So-Long-Ago?, "Mr." Pam, "Mr." Lisa, "Mr." Terry, (sorry, ladies, Andrew was only two), Mrs. Love, Mrs. Yow, Mrs. Tyson, Mrs. Belk, Mrs. Williams, Miss Martha (really sorry about that year again, Miss Martha), Miss Robyn, Miss Terry (again!), Miss Kris, Miss Libby, Miss Ginger, Miss Nicole, Miss Jenn, Miss Kitty, Miss Beth, and Miss Randi. 

Preschool, let's make this the best year ever.  Maybe I will even actually attend your Thanksgiving banquet this year.  Maybe.

Love,
A Grateful Mommy