See what she just did? Myah, don't do that. Or that. Or good God, THAT

If there’s one thing Mulletville has going for it, it’s a plethora of daycares and preschools. I’m not sure why there are so many, since most of the town’s residents seem to do nothing but walk around half-dressed, drinking from wine bottles. Oh wait, I just answered my own question.

After the first daycare disaster, I’ve been diligently interviewing the staffs of other providers (remember the polygamist sect?). Chuck and I figure that having Junior attend preschool two days a week will prepare Junior for when Chuck goes back to work. We also thought that Junior, a friendly and outgoing three-year-old, might like to go to school and socialize with kids his own age.

Isn't that always a parental concern? That your kid's not gluing enough macaroni to paper?

Finally, after months of searching, I found it: the preschool of all preschools. I practically cried when the nice, non-yelling teacher ran me through a typical day: Live animals to pet, teddy bear picnics, pirate parades. No bowling. It’s close to my work. It’s safe and clean. It is an establishment that has no business being in Mulletville.

I love it.

The problem is, it’s only been two weeks and, to put it mildly, Junior isn’t too juiced about going. To make matters worse, I’m making matters worse in the way I handle it. In fact, if someone could have taped yesterday’s drop off, they could have used it as an educational video for what not to do when dropping your kid off at school.

On the drive in, Junior kept saying that he didn’t want to go. I tried to be cheery about the day’s activities—“Painting, Junior! Circle time! Toys and friends and slides! Fuck yes!”

Perhaps I oversold the experience. The kid’s too smart; I’m sure he could sense my desperation a mile away. Chuck was out of town. My mom was away. I needed Junior to go to school.

When we got to the classroom, Junior clung to my leg. Then he tried to hide under my skirt. “I want to go home!” he cried. I tried to distract him. We picked a toy. He wanted me to stay and play. I tried to get another kid to play with him. Five minutes passed. Ten minutes...

“I want to go home!”

“Junior, you can’t. It’s a school day.”

“I want to go home!”

“Let’s pick a toy you can play with.”

“I want to go home!”

The teacher inched her way over. She nodded for me to leave. I started to, but when Junior ran towards me, I caved and went back. I picked him up.

“I want to go home!”

“Junior, you can’t. It’s a school day.”

We went outside and took a little walk.

“I want to go home!”

“Your friends want to play with you.”

“No, I want to go home! I’m tired. I miss the kitty cats.”

Frick.

We went back to the classroom. I asked the teacher what to do. She told me to say goodbye and leave; he’d recover. So I said goodbye and left. Then, madness. He threw himself against the glass door and screamed bloody murder. He tried the door handle. He kicked. It was very unlike Junior. Except for a few meltdowns, he’s usually pretty low-key. He’s a sweet kid. To the parents watching from the hallway, he looked like he was possessed.

I started to walk down the hallway, but I could still hear him screaming. I couldn’t do it.

I went back and got him, then I called in sick. On the drive home he said, “See, Mommy? I just wanted to go home. I’ll go next time. I'm sorry.”

I’m floundering here. At the other daycare, it was easy to blame Junior’s unhappiness on them. They were horrible. Now, there’s no reason for him not to like it.

Of course, I’m looking at it through an adult’s eyes. I have 35 years of coping skills upon which to draw. To Junior, who’s been home with me, Chuck and grandparents for the last three years, the classroom probably seems frightening and overwhelming. The state-approved ratio of student to teacher is 10-1. He has to go from being an at-home super star to one of the herd.

As my mother put it, “It’s kind of like breaking in a wild animal.”

Lovely.

To some of my friends whose kids have been in daycare since four months, all of this is old hat. Their kids are seasoned professionals with schedules and classroom etiquette. I never thought I’d feel this way, but I do: It’s like I put Junior at a disadvantage by not enrolling him in daycare sooner. He’s suddenly the odd man out. The kids in the classroom look at him like “What’s the problem?”

Isn't he adjusting to what all kids eventually need to adjust to?

I’m dreading next week. I don’t want to botch up the drop off. The teacher is emailing me suggestions on how to handle it. I keep asking myself, What if Junior’s just not ready? Or what if I’m the one who’s not ready? As we spent the day together yesterday I thought, This is where I want to be: Home.

You know, what my kid said.