My Preschool Dropout

I recently pulled my 3-year-old son, Dillon, out of preschool after attending for just a few weeks. The school was great and he said he liked school. But I couldn’t hack it.

We started preschool with all the pomp and circumstance he deserved. Daddy acting as the paparazzi, Dillon sporting a rhinoceros backpack from the Gap, and Mommy wearing her designer sling, newborn baby brother in tow. I couldn’t wait to get home and post the photos on Facebook. “Dillon is so cute!” The comments started pouring in. “You look like a celebrity mom!” I ate it up.

“Now,” I told myself,” once I get the baby down for a nap, I can get some work done." And so it was, for about a day. I’m not organized by nature. To get myself, let alone my child, out the door each morning took a great deal of effort. But I got it together. We made it to school on time. And I even remembered to pack Dillon's lunch. It would have worked out perfectly, if I could have left baby Blake sleeping soundly in his bassinet.

I quickly noticed the preschool drop-off and pick-up times conflicted with Blake’s naps. I was either waking him up or delaying his need to sleep or eat. No more mornings of red carpet photo shoots. I felt like I was throwing Dillon in the classroom at the beginning of the day, and then after school, pulling him out by his shirt. All so I could get back home before the baby, or I, had a meltdown.

I knew I needed to call the preschool director and explain it wasn’t working out. But I was nervous. I worried she’d think I was a complete flake. I assumed she’d try to persuade me to give it more time. Instead, she was upbeat and understanding. “You have to do what’s right for you and your family,” she reassured. Perhaps my decision to delay preschool wasn’t the end of the world or an indictment on my parenting skills?

Her response took me by complete surprise. No guilt trip? No advice on what I should do? No insight on how other mommies handle it better? None of that. Instead, she was 100% in support of me. Her compassionate attitude reminded me to give myself a break.

Our society loves to pit moms against one another. We’re the topic of talk-show teasers: “The Mommy Wars… coming up next!” We are divided into camps, and we get mangled in debate. Hot buttons are pressed and suddenly we’re throwing daggers and defending our own choices. We judge, because we feel judged.

But no one walks in my shoes, and I don’t walk in yours. We have to look within and search our hearts, survey our choices, and do the best we can. Many nights, I lay my head down and count the ways I’ve fallen short. Then I think about my boys and their sweet smiling faces. I watch my preschool dropout and observe that he’s happy and he’s smart. I’ll blink my eyes and he’ll be heading off to college. Time goes by too fast to waste it feeling guilty.

I give the preschool director a gold star. Her words did wonders for me. She empowered me to trust my instincts as a parent, to do what’s best for me and my family. I’ll be sure to pay it forward. I’ve become so aware how much all moms need that kind of support. Perhaps Dr. Phil will want to do a show about that?

Bio: Angie Mizzell is a self-employed mom of two boys who has finally realized she wants to be a writer when she grows up. Her work has been published in Skirt magazine and the Post and Courier. Read more of her essays and join the conversation at www.angiemizzell.com. Angie lives in Charleston, SC.

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