Seven years later...

Seven years ago I taught my first preschool class. A group of my peers, all with three-year-old children, started a home preschool. We were young. Bright-eyed. Eager. All first-time mommies. I think we opted for the official "Joy School" program designed by the Eyre's. I have fond memories of the experience, mostly because of dear friends.

But my memory of that time also holds a lot of unseen angst (unseen, that is, hopefully from my peers and co-preschool moms). At that time in my life, getting ready for preschool was a monumental chore. On a preschool morning when I was teaching, I stormed around the house, picking up, shoving clutter in closets, agonizing over the snack, organizing the craft supplies so that everything was exactly ready, wielding Madi's hair in perfect pigtail-buns, and stashing away Madi's "special" toys that I knew she wouldn't want to share. Stress comes to mind. Stress and ironically, not much joy.

By the time the children arrived, I glued a smile on my face. But inside I was exhausted from the self-imposed stress.

Seven years later (and half a world away)...I get a last shot at doing a preschool with my youngest child. This week I taught my first class.

On this last-first preschool morning, there was no sign of a storm. Not even a drizzle. I prepared the crafts at the last minute with stuff I had on hand (cotton ball clouds and puff ball catapillars as pictured below).


Toys littered the playroom. But hey, that's what a playroom is for, right? Snack was simple. And when the children arrived, I greeted them with a smile. Not glued on. I was actually happy to see them.

So why the change? I'm not sure. Maybe I could chalk it up to experience-I've since taught everything from preschool to college. Or maybe I've adapted to the chaos of my own five children - so a preschool with four three-year-olds is no big deal. It could be that I know this is my last child, and therefore, my last home preschool. Or maybe I've just learned to let go of the need for perfection over non-important things. Whatever the reason, the day was delightful.

As I read "The Quiet Cricket" to the four children sitting cross-legged on the rug, I felt a deep sense of joy. They asked me to read the spittle bug page again and again...I read it four times in a row and they belly laughed each time.

So this is what home preschool can be! Seven years later, I'm finally enjoying the experience.