My daughter is approximately 2.5 years old.
She's at that age where she climbs up the headboard of our bed, just to flop backwards onto white sheets, in a very "Nestea, take the plunge" kind of way, and then dissolve into a fit of a thousand giggles.
She's at that age where she contests proven, factual information, just for the sake of contesting it (i.e., "Oh, you're wearing your red dress." "No, I'm not." OR "Look, it's becoming nighttime." "No, it's not, Papa. It's not becoming nighttime.").
She's at that age where, when I gently correct her behavior by explaining the reasons why pinching her Ninang is unacceptable, she looks into my eyes and responds with equal parts earnestness and insolence: "Don't tell me that, Mama."
She's fully into the Terrible Twos, which began way ahead of schedule, since she was an early talker. And with each month, as she inches closer to the third year-mark, I become more and more aware that her first day ever of school, of preschool, is also looming closer.
My own first-ever day of school took place when I was four years old. I didn't go to preschool. Instead, I went straight to Kinder 1 at "big school," of the private Catholic variety. Thus, even in the remotest corners of my memory, I have no personal recollection of what this preschool experience is necessarily about. And even if I did, things are obviously different 30-plus years later. Its imminent arrival doesn't make me wistful or teary. Rather, it makes my stomach lurch uneasily, as I think of how ill-prepared I am for this milestone.
Asking friends with slightly older kids helps, but more often than not, I come away from the conversation with a confirmation that I am, indeed, a noob, and currently scoring mommy marks in the realm of a C-. I didn't realize the concept of "preschool" was going to be so confusing. To be honest, I wasn't even completely sure what "big school" meant until, um, yesterday. I definitely wasn't aware that some "big schools" require the child to attend a DepEd-licensed preschool before they can accept them into Kinder. And that some "big schools" consider nursery or preschool a pre-requisite before children can be accepted into Kinder, which is now part of the K-12 program, anyway. But then some "big schools" have two levels of kinder, so one level would be considered "preschool," so no need to enroll in a...wait...what? What was I saying? Where are we? Can I have some wine?
I do know preschool is more "play school" than any kind of formal school, though. Play school, I understand. Or at least I think I do. Friends have sent their children as young as a year and a half to organized classes, or groups, or what-have-you. We did sign our daughter up for a few sessions of a play group, but nothing that would give her any sense of regularity.
I still have limited knowledge on the subject, of all these structured group activities for the youngest of children. Because my daughter was an (astonishingly) early talker ("Mama" and "Papa" at five months, coherently articulated thoughts at nine, and more or less complete sentences a couple of months after she turned one -- gosh, I wonder where she gets the talkies from...), we were always told that there was no need to put her into all sorts of play groups. We had been concerned that since she is the first grandchild on both sides of the family, and therefore, has no first cousins (and siblings, at the moment), socialization would be an issue. But everyone whose opinion we valued -- grandparents, pediatricians, friends, friends who are preschool teachers -- shook their heads and patted us reassuringly on the arm. No need, they said. You can sign her up for face to face activities when it's time for her to go to preschool.
Ah. Well, guess what? It's time, and we happen to be in the middle of a raging pandemic. Face to face activities are definitely out of the picture for the foreseeable future.
This does nothing for my nerves, nor my mom guilt. Friends have reminded me that we don't even need to send her to preschool ("send" not really being the most accurate term nowadays, lol), that to have her in some sort of formal education setup will really just mean plopping her down in front of a Zoom or Google Classroom at home, or for packaged activity sets to be sent to our home. How well does play school translate through a screen, anyway? Perhaps if I had acquiesced and signed her up for any of those infant play groups, I wouldn't be so worried about, well, everything in general, and nothing in particular?
In a spell of courage that came with the new year, I told my husband about a month ago that I would attempt to homeschool her preschool (is that right?) after her third birthday. Ha! I'm still drawing a blank on what exactly that entails. Although I've devoured quite a number of Montessori books since my daughter was born, homeschooling is a whole other dragon. I'm not worried about losing my cool while attempting it. Although I've never been the most patient person (insert cackles of former colleagues here), I've discovered that my patience stretches out infinitely in all directions when I'm dealing with my daughter.
It's the actual material, the darn curriculum, that confounds me. I am, basically, not equipped for this. Preschool, play school -- I mean, how hard can it be? But then, the questions begin to besiege me. Where do I even begin? What books should I read? What websites should I peruse? What even makes me think I am capable of doing this? Is this even the right decision? But then again, is there a worthy alternative I would be happy with, in 2021?
Over the past year, I've listened to friends bemoan the hardships of remote schooling. I've read article after article about the new, and beyond valid, challenges that parents-in-lockdown are facing in this pandemic -- a head-on collision of work and domestic lives for which no manual has ever been written. Need I mention the insufferable difficulties of remote learning if you come from a less-than-privileged background? More than one friend has commented that they think I am so lucky because my toddler hasn't hit school age yet. I have secretly agreed, as I watched their heads explode as they became parent/caregiver/cook/provider and teacher, all the while juggling the stress and worry brought about by a life-threatening pandemic.
I am definitely aware that I could be (gasp!) overthinking all this. I mean, it's preschool, not Harvard. But if you're a parent who gives a damn, I think you'd understand where all this anxiety is coming from. As a mother, you're always worried that you are doing too little or doing too much, inexplicably, even at the same time.
So, the lists and charts and tables weighing every possible pro and con, every possible detail, every possible option available to us, will be made. I will spend the next few months obsessively consuming all resources I can, to help me set the foundation of my daughter's academic life. Yes, I will overthink this. Yes, I will freak out. And yes, I may annoy a great many people with my pestering and incessant questions. But that is how I'm going to roll because that, quite frankly, is how we roll.
Can you imagine what a wreck I'll be when she's applying to colleges?