The Kindergarten Crusade

I had read about it in several light-hearted, comical novels, two come to mind: The Nanny Diaries and Admissions. At the time, I laughed at the hilarity, contemplated the reality and basically convinced myself that under no circumstances would I ever partake in the ridiculousness, even to a small degree. Of course, at that time, I had a baby or at most a small toddler. It was inconceivable to me.

I now sit here and ask myself: is this really happening? I mean really. Am I really stressing myself out about my child attending one of our two neighborhood public kindergartens. Am I really waking up in cold sweats after a nightmare in which she is behind all of her peers, doesn’t have any friends with whom our family connects and becomes a wallflower in the game of life? Well, it isn’t quite that bad but I have to tell you that choosing a kindergarten for my 4 year old is certainly not the piece of cake I expected. I wanted a simple chocolate cupcake with chocolate icing. Instead, I have turned it into a triple chocolate caramel pecan with dulce de leche double cream frosting.

And, it isn’t just us. It is the same with multiple of our friends. And, I am guessing, this is a contagious disease that pontificates the more true feelings are exposed. Last week, in an effort to give our children every opportunity imaginable, we trotted our little darlings down for a test for advanced kindergarten. One of my friends described the ascent into the building well: “Hilary, I tell you as I approached the door, my heart started beating fast and I could just feel the anxiety creeping up my throat. My pace quickened and I grabbed little Trixie’s (name changed for privacy) hand and pulled her faster towards the room entrance (embellished a bit to create a vibrant picture).” I knew what she was talking about. It was as if we were entering the courtroom for a trial which would determine the direction of our life forever.

We left the little ones in a room among their peers with a group of evaluators who would be overseeing a multitude of activities including what appeared to be color block matching, writing, coloring, counting and ABC awareness for the next hour to determine the fate of our children in the next year. Of course, the minute the facilitator asked the Mommies and Daddies to exit the room, my child burst into a helpless plea of “No, Mommy, stay…Mommy stay.” Immediately, it was as if super glue had been applied to my daughter’s arms as they quickly became attached to my legs. I tried to engage the woman assigned to my daughter by saying, “Look this nice lady is going to sit with you. Let’s find out her name. This is my daughter….” The lady had nothing of it. She didn’t even glance our way as she busied herself in making certain all of the tables were in order and children appropriately assigned. I looked around in desperation as the other test overseers sat and kindly approached their little students. One of them looked at me in pity and remarked, “She’ll be ok.” Well, I knew that, but it was just our luck to get the type A, process-oriented test leader who was distracted by her other test-related duties.

It probably really wasn’t that bad but as my child wailed amidst a sea of otherwise calm children, I perceived the situation as dire. I could just picture our chances of entering our school of choice dwindling to zero. At that point, I quickly employed one of my mothering tactics often criticized but secretly applied which I reserved for only the most critical of circumstances: “If you stay and do this, we will go for ice cream later.” That immediately lessened the degree of wailing and I was able to quickly dash out of the room. However, I only exited to the hallway as I had promised that I would stay out there until she was finished. As the other parents dashed to their cars to partake in a few moments of freedom and errand running that can only be described to those who don’t have children as winning the lottery, I sat firmly in place on the cold linoleum floor with the clock ticking away the seconds. I reached for the book in my purse only to find I had unloaded it to decrease the crushing weight of my purse (if you can call it that – I prefer to think of it as a “purcase” which if required weighing to board an airplane would probably waver slightly above or below the fifty pound limit).

I really was quite proud of myself. I allowed myself only two peeks in the window during the first ten minutes only to see my little angel pulling one of her usual avoidance tactics: head bent to the side with the look of a wayward puppy meaning that it was unlikely she was cooperating. I quickly scolded myself and developed the appropriate punishment – or maybe it was a saving grace: no more peeking in the window. Besides, I didn’t want anyone to catch on to just how neurotic I had become.

The other parents returned about ten minutes before the test completion and I became engaged in conversation with some familiar faces. By the time my daughter exited, my anxiety level had plummeted after discussions of the crumbling real estate market and other topics reserved for those few moments when I could be in a 1:1 discussion with another adult.

She approached me with a smile on her face, the first words uttered, “when are we going for ice cream?” She then proceeded to say, “Mommy, I didn’t know a lot of that stuff.” Well, believe it or not, I had spent the entire hour on that linoleum floor practicing Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now and had diffused some of my neuroses even if it was just for that day. The thought that advanced kindergarten or even a particular school would determine my child’s entire fate had diminished a bit although not enough for me not to ask, “Well, what didn’t you know honey?” I quickly found out that she didn’t know all of her letters, nothing that came as a surprise to me. After all, she is only 4. If you had asked her to recite the entire storyline for any Princess movie, should would have aced it but letters…hmmm.. not exactly the most interesting topic for my own little Princess. We exited the building in a much more relaxed state than we came in and after a quick stop at her preschool spent the afternoon doing Mommy and daughter activities – the type that bond us for life and are the secret ingredient that really determine the future fate of our little jewels.

I have to tell you that even after a relaxing weekend in the mountains that followed our little advanced K testing foray and much time for reflection on how ridiculous we have made this whole process, we still rushed home yesterday to attend an open house for a potential back-up school. And, I swear Grayer/Grover from The Nanny Diaries was there with his parents. Luckily, I had had enough reflection to actually enjoy the simple pleasure of watching my daughter twirl ferociously with glee smack in the middle of the parent Q&A. Concurrently, a ping of sadness ensued as Grayer/Grover in his perfectly preppy ensemble (think Ralph Lauren) looked at his parents longingly only to be met with what appeared to be a Botox-infused eyebrow raise which quickly pushed Grayer/Grover back into his cationic state. Hopefully the end of the Denver version of the story will mimic that penned by Emma Mclaughlin and Nicola Kraus.

I can’t tell you our kindergarten fate yet as we won’t know anything until March! However, I can tell you that I daily think about what others told me during my near brush with a full out breakdown during potty training: “Hilary, whatever happens, you can be guaranteed that she will not walk down the aisle or get her diploma in diapers.” My current translation: When she is 18, she will certainly have attained some acumen in reading, riting and rithmatic.

As an aside, as I was performing research for this story, I actually came across a book that is written to help you get your child into the school of their choice: The Kindergarten Wars: The Battle to Get into America's Best Private Schools by Alan Eisenstock. We will not be running out to purchase, however, I provide for your enjoyment. This is not an endorsement or recommendation of the book.