carl in casimirland.

Thanks to Pre-K, Casimir now knows what to do should he catch on fire, and knows that he need not be afraid should a firefighter with a gas mask appear in his smoking bedroom. To think I had been so remiss as to have left these teachings out of our daily activities. What was I thinking? Now I'm sure the next time we set off the smoke detector while cooking, he will capably and efficiently dial 9-1-1 and say "We have an emergency. My name is Casimir."

And Preschool! I'm not sure if you can really call it preschool, actually, if I'm still there every day, looming in the background at Casimir's emotional behest. Yes I don't leave him alone there yet. Despite the entire universe's finger-wagging that "he has to do it someday" and "he'll stop crying as soon as you're gone" and that "it's all a show for you," I still stay until he's ready for me to go. It's just that I make enough bad parenting moves rather effortlessly, while going about my day. Intentionally and purposefully going against my gut instinct and common sense and just shaking his clinging self off of my leg and marching out seemed like it would be overkill. Why be kind of harsh on purpose when I sometimes manage to do it without even thinking after a poor night's sleep or bad day?

Thing is you have to really shop around to find a Pre-K that accepts this radically insurgent approach though. We had a rather distasteful experience before we found our Preschool Jesus in the form of Miss Laurie, the savior who encourages Mommy to stay. At our first preschool, the free one two blocks away with the big room and all the new wooden toys, things did not go so smoothly. Every question I asked about this impending moment of separation was brushed off with Don't worry, Mom! as if my apprehension was really about my own complete inability to leave him at preschool all alone. Yes I know moms are inherently bags of stupid nostalgia and rush home from pre-K to scrapbook, but mostly I knew he wouldn't take well to the whole Mommy-leaves-idea because I take care of him every day. You know, it kinda comes with the territory. You get to know them while wiping their bottom and playing cars and what not for three years. And I knew he was not big on being left alone with anyone but us and grandmas. We've been through this at the YMCA daycare and this is the reason I use for why I'm not working out daily.

I'll never forget our second and last day at the bad preschool though. Poor little Caz sniffed the whole way there: "I'm not big enough." Once we got there he just refused to budge from me and refused to part with his backpack, sunglasses, or anything that he'd need when he got the hell out of there. The teacher came over chirping "Okay, Mom!" which I understood to mean : Leave, Dumbass. I knew there was no way I was going to repeat the first day, in which I brainlessly did as told and left him crying and went home feeling like a pile of misery. So this time when I left, I took Casimir with me. Hell if I couldn't stay, why should he? I know some kids fuss and whine and then are fine, but some are not so fine. And wet their pants later. And so we marched right on out of Pre-K feeling very deliciously defiant.

We stuck it to the man! In the form of the nursery school teacher!

And we had the most jubilant afternoon, playing cars on the front lawn for hours while Carl slept. So now we head off to preschool together- me, Casimir, and Carl. I've had dreams in the past about restarting grammar school, but never thought I'd really get the opportunity! And now after just four classes I think he is almost ready for me to leave the room. To take a bathroom break anyway. He went from clinging to practically ignoring me today as he learned about catching on fire and gas masks. And all without trauma! Unless you count the gas mask lesson.