Lesson Learned

Mikey started at preschool last week. There are dozens of daycare centers in walking distance, including the one he attended for the last 9 months, but the shortcut for finding a quality preschool is to go to the website for the National Association for the Education of Young Children (http://www.naeyc.org) and do a search for the schools that are accredited by them in your area. We got this from Jenifer Wana’s book “How To Choose The Best Preschool” where she writes “Because the process is so rigorous and time consuming, fewer than one in ten preschools has NAEYC accreditation. If a school has this accreditation, you can be pretty confident that it’s a high-quality program.”

Of course, this insider tip is not exactly on the QT, and the NAEYC-certified school in walking distance from our house turned out to have a 9 month waiting list. So, while we waited, Mikey went to a fine but not outstanding daycare, and we hoped he would get enough education from home.

The second best way to educate is to model expected behavior. The best way to educate is to say no. As in, “No, this is all my broccoli, not for you!” and watch as your child sneaks giggling into your lap to eat your broccoli off your fork before you make it to your mouth.

The lessons learned are seldom the ones you tried to teach. Over and over again, Ian in his British way will tell Mikey, “No, eat properly with knife and fork.” “Don’t chew on your brush. Brush your teeth properly.” “No, Sprog, you’re scaring the cat. Pet him properly, please.”

Mikey listens sometimes and obeys, and sometimes doesn’t. Tonight, however, he demonstrated that he learned his first adverb. We were playing cars together on our bed, and I was slouched over the pillow.

“Sit up, daddy, like this,” he said, getting into the position what the yogis call sukhasana, and we call “criss-cross applesauce.”

“OK,” I said, half-propping myself up.

“No, Daddy,” he sighed. “Sit properly.”

Lesson learned.

A Bad Dream

Mikey had a nightmare this morning. He’s had nightmares before which woke him up and made him scream or cry, and sometimes required him to run to our bed in the middle of the night, but this is the first time he articulated what scary thing had happened to him.

“Papa! Papa!” Mikey called. Papa is Ian. I don’t take it personally anytime Mikey calls for Papa instead of me, Daddy. I’m mature that way.

“What is it?” Ian asked him. “Honey, Papa’s here.”

“No!” Mikey was still asleep and screaming. “Papa ate my foot!”

With that, Mikey fell back asleep. Ian and I slept for a while ourselves, and then started getting dressed. Mikey is starting preschool next month and we talked about Ian taking him there this morning, for a special event where they’re bringing in sea creatures for the children to see. Then I couldn’t take it anymore, and started laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“’Papa ate my foot!’” I said.

“You’re mean.”

“If I’m so mean, how come you were the one eating his foot, hmm?”

Like I said, I’m mature that way.