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"I'm wet!"
"It's okay, Candy," I tell her, sneaking a look at the preschool teacher, to see her reaction.
We're at a preschool, checking it out. It isn't a formal open house, but the director brought us up to the class Candy would be in next year, and the kids were just about to have their snack. The teacher said Candy could have snack too. They gave her some goldfish and water in a little paper cup. Which she promptly dumped all over her pants.
"Wet! Wet! WET!"
"Candy, it's fine."
I swear you could give the kid a manure pile to roll around in and she'd be thrilled. But one micron of water? The teacher hands Candy a paper towel. Candy pushes her chair back and stands up, I figure to wipe off the water, but instead she kicks off her shoes, swipes her pants off and sits back down. Then she goes back to her goldfish. Oh, and she slips her shoes back on. Now she's sitting there in her diaper and I want to die.
"We're working on potty training," I tell the teacher.
"It's not a problem," she tells me. "They don't have to be potty trained. About half the three-year olds usually aren't, at the start of the year."
Really? Because when I say we are working on potty training what I mean is I am. Obsessively. I have read books, watched videos, even dropped fifty dollars to go hear the potty whisperer. Mike thought I was nuts. And once I got there, I kind of had to agree with him. I mean, my mom never went to a seminar and I figured it out. She said I was trained by two. I asked her how she did it and she couldn't remember.
"It wasn't that big of a deal, Alex, we just told you to use the toilet and you did."
Anyway, when the teacher says half the kids here aren't toilet trained, I think I make up my mind right then and there. This could work for us. This wasn't my first choice for a preschool, it was Lauri's. Rachel's already registered. I was kind of upset with her, actually, because she didn't talk to me about it. I just figured they would go to school together. They really are the cutest little buddies, most of the time anyway. And I really wanted Montessori. Then Montessori told me that Candy would have to be potty trained. Oh yeah, that's when my obsession started.
Lauri said she didn't want a five-day program, period, and that she'd already signed Rachel up. I was all pissed off about it that night and was bitching to Mike about it.
Mike finally said, "Alex, maybe they just can't afford it."
I asked him how he knew that and he said, Bill had said, when they bought the house they had to pick, the town with the better schools or the bigger house. So they went with the schools. Mike won't be too disappointed if I pick this school. He thought five thousand for the year was a tad excessive. But he was willing to do it if that is what I wanted.
Snack time is over. The kids all throw away their trash and head back to playing. Candy falls right in line with them and heads over to where some little girls are playing, with some toy horses. I pick her pants up off the floor. She's going to have to put them back on, it's fifteen degrees outside, but I'll take her into a bathroom, on another floor of the building preferably. And if it has the hand dryer even better.
I sneak looks around the room. It is nice. There are tons of toys and books. There's artwork hanging around everywhere. I think it will be fine. I wonder if I should get Candy out of there, but taking Candy away from something she's happily doing doesn't usually go well, so I wait. Eventually, the other teacher rings a bell and the kids start cleaning up like maniacs. Candy is still holding onto two horses, but when one of the other girls tells her to put them away, she does. In about two minutes, all the toys are put away and the kids are finding spots on the rug, at one end of the classroom. Candy is standing alone, kind of clueless. I grab her hand and mouth, “Thanks,” to the teacher.
Once we are out of the room, I hand Candy her pants. I hope she'll just put them on, they really are perfectly dry. She takes them from me, without a fuss, throws herself down on the floor and puts them on. Whew.
"We have to go talk to the lady," I tell her.
"What lady?"
"The director. Do you like it here? Do you want to go to school here?"
"Yes!"
She turns around and starts marching towards the classroom.
"No, not today, in September."
Ugh, I said no. Cue meltdown. Candy sprints towards the door. She grabs the doorknob and yanks. I hold the door shut high above her head. With my other hand, I try to pull her away. Finally, I give up on trying to get her one handed, so I risk it and let go of the door. I'm just about to grab her with both hands when she pulls the door open, with all her might, into my head. Next thing I know, I'm sitting on my ass and the teacher is looking out at us. Sorry, at me. Candy went back into the classroom, apparently. It’s not the teacher who was nice about the potty training either. The other one, who didn't say anything to us.
"Lose someone?"
The other teacher marches Candy out to me.
"Sorry," I mutter.
I want to get up, but I don't think I can do it gracefully from this position. Maybe I should wait until they go back in and close the door.
"Looks like she can't wait to start," nice teacher says.
Less nice teacher has drifted back into the room.
"I think you're right," I say, and because I will look even more ridiculous if I don't get up by now, I do.
She's holding Candy's hand which she passes to me. I grab it with the grip of death.
"Do you have a preference for morning or afternoon? Because I think the morning class is almost full."
Oh, huh? I don't know. She smiles again, at Candy this time.
"Hope to see you in the fall, sweetheart."
Then she shuts the door and is gone.
"If you want to..." I stop.
I was going to say, “Go to school here,” but I think that will set Candy in motion again. She’ll try to get back into the classroom.
"Come." I tell her. "Let's go see about..."
I stop again. Lord, I can't figure out how to talk to her. She's staring at me like I'm a nut job, which I guess I am. Everything I say, or do, I play out fifty subsequent scenarios in my head, and try to minimize the effect it will have on her. Suddenly I remember why a five day a week preschool appealed to me. I need it. More than her, actually. God, I'm exhausted.
We walk downstairs, to where the director's office is and I peek my head in. She smiles at me. Smiley bunch they are here.
"What did you think?" she asks me.
"We are definitely interested. What is the application process?"
"Um, process?" She's still smiling but looks slightly puzzled. "I can give you an application right now. There is only one spot left for the mornings, so if that is the time you want, the sooner you complete the application, and get it in, the better."
"Yes, but what about the interview?"
"Oh, we don't do interviews."
"You don't?"
"No."
I don't say anything. I'm reliving the interview for the other preschool that was, well, stressful. My mom had to come watch Candy, and Mike had to go and it was intense. No other way to explain it. About halfway through, I sensed they weren't too impressed with us, so I just started lying. Said we ate all organic food and didn't even have a TV. Mike said later he was almost terrified they were going to separate us and compare answers.
"We believe," the director pauses, "any kid, any family could do well here. We welcome everyone."
She thinks I'm worried they are not selective enough.
"No, sorry, I didn't mean that. It's just I can't remember, Candy's friend, Rachel."
Candy pipes up, "Rachel!"
"I can't remember what class they were doing, morning or afternoon."
The director pulls a clipboard off the wall and flips through it.
"Rachel Prescott? Mornings. We only have one spot left in that class."
"Right, that class, that spot, I want that. Can I do that?"
The big smile is back. She pulls out a folder and hands it to me. I open it up and my heart sinks. Piles of forms.
"Now? I need to do this now?"
There is no way Candy will sit still while I do this. I can bring it back tomorrow, but what if someone else gets the spot? Candy is squirming like crazy.
"It's not a problem. Do you want to give me a check for a deposit? I'll just hold the spot for you, paperwork pending."
"Yes, thank you. I can do the paperwork and bring it in tomorrow."
"It will be okay, just get us the application by the end of the month. The deposit is one eighty-five, plus a fifty-dollar registration fee, the registration fee is non-refundable."
I manage to write the check and give it to her. Candy is approaching max freak-out quickly. The director fills in Candy's name, on the last space of the class and writes "Deposit received, paperwork pending."
That night, after Candy is in bed, Mike sits with me while I fill out the application.
"I can't believe she is going to be going to school,” he tells me."
"I know," I say. "It seems like yesterday we just had her."
But that's not the most unbelievable part. I never thought when Candy was born, or when I was pregnant with her, or really for the first two plus years of her life, that we'd get here again. Happy. I can't say I feel like Mike really loves me again, but I'm starting to feel like maybe someday he could. And that is amazing.
