Committed

If you read my novel about preschool, you know that we applied to 18 preschools through the Chicago Public Schools and were accepted to two of them, plus our neighborhood school. A handful of the other schools that we applied to sent us a letter telling us that Jett is on their waiting list. Some of the schools never contacted us at all. From the three that accepted Jett, we narrowed our choices down to the two closest schools and observed a class at each school. We chose the school and the teacher that we liked the best. Jett is now in his third week of preschool.

In the last week, three schools have called us to say that they have openings now, and would Jett like to attend? Well, no. No thank you. He likes his school. We don't mind the drive. Most importantly, we're in a routine, a routine that we all like, a routine that Jett is comfortable with. We will not be changing that, thank you very much.

Except, maybe. That one school is only a few blocks from us. It's so prestigious. And we could walk! We could walk there in 10 minutes! For a one car family like ours, this is important.

So that school called and I hemmed and hawed and wondered if we'd really consider moving Jett to a new school. Pros and cons and all that. I should say that this is not just an ordinary neighborhood school. This is a magnet school. Lot's of parents think magnet schools are better because...I'm not sure why. It could be that CPS invests more money into magnet schools. It could be that they focus on special areas, like science or languages or art. It could be that since you have to apply to them they attract families who put in the effort to apply. I honestly don't know what sets magnet schools apart from neighborhood schools, but I do know they are in a class of their own. For some reason. It's just not a school I can turn down without obsessing over it first.

Finally I decided to observe a class at this school. I lost a night of sleep worrying that this class would be better. I didn't know what we would do if this new class seemed better than his current class. Would we really change schools three weeks in to the school year? Now? After he's been doing so well, walking in to school by himself like a big boy? Oh, the hand-wringing I had to do over that one!

I lost a night of sleep, observed the class, and wasn't persuaded. What a relief!

We're not switching schools, so today I dropped him off for school as usual and he walked in the class by himself, all happy and smiley and waving. Then I talked to some parents and knew all of their names. We admired each other's kids and laughed at somebody's joke and noticed that none of the kids were crying today (a first!). It all just felt good, like we're all right where we're supposed to be.

Which is good, because last week I volunteered to be the lead preschool parent volunteer, whatever that means, so we should probably stick around.

When the days unfolded exactly as they were supposed to

Remember when Football Sundays were relaxing? We'd just sit around on the couch, watching the game, eating chips, maybe some baby carrots to make us feel healthy. Charlie would grill something up for lunch, and then for dinner. Zack and Mark would come over with beer and sit on our futon, the one Al gave me in Americus. During commercials the two of them and Charlie would explain to me what happened until I started to kind of understand the game myself. Sometimes I'd get bored, and then I'd walk out into our beautiful yard, the yard with the blossoming trees and orange lilies and adirondack chairs, and I'd read a book. If I was feeling industrious I'd clean out my closet or go on a walk, or that one year, look for a job. Then I'd return to the couch to watch the game and read the paper, and even though I'd done hardly anything at all, I'd have that satisfied feeling you get when you know you've done everything that you were supposed to that day.

Sigh.

Or he could have just put it in his pocket

Yesterday when we picked Jett up from preschool he showed us two art projects. The first one was an orange piece of paper covered in glued-on paper letters. The other one, which he was much more excited about, was a scrap of paper with four leaf-shaped holes punched out of it, all in a row. His teacher took a few minutes to tell us how much Jett enjoyed using the hole punch.

Jett's class had played outside that day, and as we walked down the stairs and out of the school, he told us that he put a leaf in his shoe to save it so he could show it to us. He went on and on about saving the leaf in his shoe so he could show us. I don't know how we managed to keep his shoes on as long as we did, except he seemed most excited about having saved the leaf, and less excited about actually retrieving it (from his shoe).

We had plans yesterday afternoon and evening, so we didn't get home until 9:30. As I'm taking Jett's shoes and socks off for bed, a tiny white, paper, punched-out leaf falls out of his shoe and on to the floor. Jett is half-asleep and cranky, but he perks right up and says, "Look, Mama! The leaf I saved for you!" Our little smuggler.

This seems like a minor story to blog about, but he was so excited about having smuggled that leaf. He seemed so proud of being so clever. Or sneaky. Maybe next time he'll come out with an extra snack in his shoe.

City Kids

On the sidewalk

Dropping stuff down the drain

At a street festival with his good friend and former nanny-share buddy

Preschool: The Novel

(In other words, a really, really long post).

One late night, way back in December 2008, I applied (Jett) to 18 different preschools. I filled out the applications (hard copy) and stuffed them each in separate envelopes from midnight to 2:00 am that night. You should know that I had to print out 18 different copies and hand write the name of each school on each one, even though the rest of the application was exactly the same. Then I had to print out and fill in two additional, different applications, because two of the schools were so confusing that I couldn't figure out which application they required. I had to do this in the middle of the night, because I was doing this the day before the applications were due.

Considering all of the work it takes to navigate the Chicago Public School system, it seems crazy to leave the applications to the last minute, but somehow I had forgotten about the deadline. Luckily a friend of mine happened to mention it, in an offhand way, the day before the applications were due. This friend of mine was still a "new friend" then, in that we were still kind of getting to know each other. So when I gasped and told her that I hadn't even researched any schools yet and had absolutely no idea how to get started, I felt like a total schmuck. Thankfully she emailed me the list of all of the schools that she applied to. So I just went down her list and applied to the same ones. Now that's some responsible parenting, right there.

Jett got accepted to 2 of the 18 programs. Isn't that crazy? Two. Now to be fair, I was applying to schools outside of our neighborhood. Meaning, the only way he could get in to any of those schools was through the lottery system. In other words, those schools accept all of their neighborhood kids first, then if they have any spaces left over, they accept kids from outside the neighborhood, through a lottery system. I called one school that I hadn't heard from, just to follow up, and was told that he was number 201 on the waiting list. What?!?! So 2 schools out of 18 isn't so bad. I know some kids who didn't get in to any schools at all. It's enough to make you want to move to the 'burbs.

Another crazy thing is, we didn't know which schools we were accepted to until the week of registration, which was in May. So we didn't have a chance to observe the classrooms or research the schools until it was time to register. Therefore, we registered at both schools, and planned to observe the classes later and then decide. But that was before we drove to the schools. It turned out that one of the schools that accepted Jett was too far of a drive for us, so we nixed that one right away. The other school was only 10 minutes away. Decision made. Or so we thought.

Finally it dawned on me that we hadn't ever considered our neighborhood school. Our neighborhood school is only 2 blocks away - how convenient! But we had some perceived drawbacks. First, we didn't know anyone who applied to that school, none of our friends had ever heard of it and we wondered why. (Granted, there are 401 preschools in the Chicago Public School system.) Secondly, it appeared to have a 90 % poverty rate. We didn't know if that mattered or not, but we did know that the "good" preschools that everyone talked about didn't have poverty rates that high. (During our tour of the school we learned that this school, like many others, I'm sure, inflates their numbers of poverty-stricken students in order to secure more federal funding). I don't know what to think about that. Finally, Jett would likely be the only white kid in preschool, and maybe in the whole school (which goes up to 8th grade). As the assistant principal said when she took us on the tour and bent down to the stroller to see Kai, "Oh, look at his eyes! We never see blue eyes here!" While I was enchanted with the prospect of being immersed in a different culture (at least for a couple of hours a day), we wondered what it would be like to be the only white kid in school. At any rate, on the last day of registration I walked over and signed Jett up to go to that school too. A few days later we toured the school, and we liked it. A few days after that I observed the preschool class. There were no windows in the room, and the class was a little chaotic. During free play time, a couple of the kids simply laid on the floor, and I had to break up a couple of "tussles", but other kids moved from station to station and played quite well. I assumed this was normal. The teacher was nice. I left thinking it was a fine choice. I felt good about the prospect of attending, and supporting our neighborhood school.

Then that afternoon I observed the preschool class at the school that is 10 minutes away, and it was fantastic. The day was organized better, and the kids accomplished more during the day. They used the dress-up clothes and played with the puzzles and blocks. They didn't argue over toys - they had a system of taking turns. They counted to 20 without help. They sang songs in three languages. They played and played and played and never seemed to get bored. Their teacher only had to ask them to do something once, and they did it, and she didn't have to raise her voice. This was the clear winner.

Preschool Fantastic is 5 days a week, 2.5 hours per day. It's in the Chicago Public School System, it's called Preschool for All, and it's free. Today was our first day.

Some of you know Jett, and you know how...tempermental he can be. How at the beginning of the summer he would be too shy to walk in to his friend's house, and would instead spend 10 minutes on the porch, getting used to the idea of coming inside. How he would spend the day talking about how excited he was to meet his friend at the park after lunch, but then get to the park and refuse to talk to his friend for the first 10 minutes of play time. But he's been turning a corner this summer. He runs into his friend's house now. He spent 3 nights at his grandparents'. He wants to walk around the block by himself.

You can imagine that we've been talking about preschool quite a bit these last few weeks. We've been driving to the school to play on the playground. We've been talking about all of the fun things there are to play with. We've been singing the songs they sing (My Country Tis of Thee, for example). What Jett has been most excited about is painting. He keeps saying he can't wait to get to preschool and paint.

Today was our first day of Preschool Fantastic. He bounded into the room. He followed directions, he raised his hand to stand up in front of the class, walk to the whiteboard, and point out the letter that his name starts with. He wanted to get picked for a classroom "job". He sang the songs, he sat quietly, he waited in line. He got praised by his teacher for sitting so nicely. Best of all, he painted. He loved it.

I loved it. I loved watching him move with confidence among so many new people. (There are 20 students, and every single student had at least one parent who stayed today. Some of them had siblings and strollers tagging along. The classroom was crowded and chaotic. Jett was cool, calm, and collected.) I loved watching him play with messy things (paint, the water table) that we don't have the space or patience to set up for him at home. I loved watching him wanting to follow the directions, and for the most part, being able to.

Tomorrow Charlie is going to take him to school, and probably stay through the class with him, and I'm a little jealous already, because after tomorrow he might not need us to stay anymore. Then my little window into his day is going to disappear. But that's fine, because today he did great. I think we made a good choice. I think he's going to keep doing great.

Whew!

The first day of school, in between smiles. He smiled all day!

Just another evening at home

At bedtime we usually put Kai to bed first, and then once he is asleep, we send Jett to bed. It works out fine because Jett knows he has to be quiet and not wake up Kai when he slips in to bed...every time we put him to bed, which seems to be about thirty times a night.

Tonight we were out of our usual routine though, and Kai was wide awake while Jett was sleepy, so I put Jett to bed first. But of course Jett would not sleep without Kai. Jett stood in his doorway waiting for Kai, while I sat with Kai on the couch and tried to settle him (read: breastfed him. For a long time. A painfully long time. That kid is thirsty at night.). When I finally stood up to take Kai to his crib, Jett scampered in to his bed. I laid Kai in the crib, he settled right down, and I walked out of the room. Two minutes later, Kai starts wailing. I wait a minute, then walk in the room, asking Jett why Kai was crying. "Did you touch him?" I ask. He says no. "Did you shake the crib?" I ask. He says no. "Did you throw something at him?" I ask. He says no. "Then why is he crying?" I ask. He says, "Because you put him in the crib." Of course.

I thank Jett for the information, give crying Kai another hug, and leave the room again. Kai continues to cry. I sit on the couch and try to read a magazine, hoping the crying stops, but it just gets worse. Just then their bedroom door opens and Jett pokes his head out of the door frame. His little face said it all: Seriously, Woman. Do you not hear this crying? You know he doesn't want to be in that crib. Do I have to take care of everything?

No, Jett. No, you don't. I dutifully picked up Kai, watched Jett climb back under the covers, and sat down on Jett's bed, holding Kai. I sang Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to them, (and breastfed Kai - srsly, Kai, again?) in the dark, until they both fall asleep. Then I laid Kai in the crib, and walked out to a kitchen full of dirty dishes. And so it goes.

You can ask me when I'm going to cut it, but the answer remains the same:

not yet.