My three-year-old had her very first day of preschool on Tuesday. She began her formal education at the type of preschool that should be available to every youngster across the country. This slice of educational heaven provides an abundance of paint, swings, and dirt, two amazing teachers, and a resident pig.
Ella has issues with clothes. She dislikes tags, denim, clothes that are hot, material that feels cold, things that look scratchy, underwear, and socks. She likes pajamas, hoods, and pockets. If someone would design a hooded, fleece onesie with a kangaroo pouch, I would buy one for every day of the week.
Before heading to school, my baby announced her plan to wear pajamas on her first day.
“Well,” I said, in a tone I hoped was supportive yet persuasive, “You could wear your jammies. Or you could wear something that would be good for running and jumping.”
Her response was, “I don’t think it matters, Mom. It’s not like I’m wearing poop.”
Hmmm, I didn’t have a reply for her. Something about her tone, phrasing, and body language combined into a very appealing argument. She was indeed not wearing poop.
So, Ella set off for her first day of preschool in her sleepy-owl pajamas. She was securely buckled into her car seat with the annoying five-point harness which, once fastened, is the equivalent of a pint-sized straight jacket. The car was in reverse when she declared, “I should wear clothes that are good for running and jumping.”
Two minutes to unbuckle the straight jacket, two minutes to choose striped leggings and a purple dress, two minutes to re-buckle, and we were off again, but in the end, it was a win-win. She didn’t wear pajamas or poop on her first day of school.
She did, however, cry on the way home, “We did sing lots of songs,” she said, “But there wasn’t a stage. I really thought there was going to be a stage.”