Term four: We survived the first day back at preschool.
At the beginning of this year, my daughter faced the daunting experience of her first day at preschool. It was tough. She didn’t want me to leave, but as the term progressed it got easier.
Then term two came around. Back to square one. Term three. Same thing.
My daughter likes preschool. She chats endlessly about her friends, reading books, gardening and her favourite past-time: the art studio. When I arrive to collect her, she is delighted to present me with her latest stick-on-the-fridge masterpiece.
After two weeks off the scene though, the fun times spent at preschool have seemingly been erased from her memory.
Suddenly, her friends have become complete strangers, the teachers have the plague and should be avoided at all cost, and she has lost all ability to emit any kind of noise (one thing she is normally above average at). She is clinging to my leg as though her life depends on it.
When I ask her who she would like to go and play with, she sadly directs her little finger at me.
Crushing.
It is at this point I have actually found myself trying to convince a three-year-old of the benefits of a quality education. Which, I’m sure, every sleep-depraved, rushing-to-get-to-work, desperate mother can admit to attempting in an effort to leave that school yard without a fuss.
It is challenging.
I have questioned myself on more than one occasion over whether preschool is an absolute necessity.