We’re in the heat of the San Francisco Pre-School Search. We’ve narrowed it down to a few, but really have our eye on one particular school because not only is it a little slice of heaven in the heart of the city, but it goes through 8th grade — which means we get to avoid going through this hell all over again next year for Kindegarten. This is not a school that is easy to get into. In fact, I’ve heard tales of women volunteering at the school before having any children attending just to prove her devotion and give her an edge for pre-school acceptance. It worked. Other than willingness to pledge your undying allegience, they look at things like gender balances, demographics of race & economic status, personality fit…
Now, I want this pretty bad (sort of — the tuition fee gives me hives everytime I think about it. but it’s an investment in his future. it’s an investement in his future. it’s an investment in his future….), but I don’t have the kind of time to be baking cookies for them while I’m still paying for Quinn to be at his current Day Care. Sure, once Quinn’s attending this school I’ll do my part to pitch in for bake sales and auctions and field trips — but not a moment before. So I’ve sent some lovely thank you notes after every tour, open house, phone call but I knew what it really came down to was Do they like us? Do they like Quinn? They’ve made it very clear that the personality fit is vital.
Last Wednesday was The Day. The family visit. We had a little chat with Quinn before going in. “Be a good listener” “Be cooperative” “Be polite” “Introduce yourself to kids and teachers” “Play with other kids” “Just have fun in the room and explore” (they value self-directed play) “Don’t whine” (this instruction was followed by an explanation of whining. i thought we’d gone over this a while back? huh.).

So we’re in the room. Quinn sits himself down at a table to inhale the protein bar I dug out of the bottom of my purse. (Bad mommy. When you pick your child up from Daycare at 3 in the afternoon, before his afternoon snack, and plan to take him somewhere where he’s expected to be on his best behavior YOU BRING A SNACK. After nearly four years, I’m still learning.) We start our conversation with the head teacher. We’re going on and on about how wonderful he is — and then, feeling self conscious, frantically trying to think of negative things to say as well just to add some authenticity to our bragging. But we can’t help ourselves. Seriously, for the most part, this kid is magic. True story. — when we hear him in the background “Hi! My name is Quinn. I three and three quarters. I going to be four on my birthday in three weeks on March 23rd.” We hear this about 3 different times as various people file past him. I’m thinking “Go Quinn go!” Then, I’m just getting into mentioning something about his empathy for others blah blah blah when he walks up, hand on his crotch and announces, “Mommy, I need to go potty Mommy”. The teacher points to the back of the room where the bathroom is. “I need somebody help me Mommy”. “Well Quinn, why don’t you go by yourself like you do at Miss Ana’s. And when you wash your hands, clean your mouth too because you’ve got chocolate on your face.” “Mommy, sometimes at Miss Ana’s I not wash my hands”. The teacher is listening. “Why?” I ask. Dancing back & forth, hand still on crotch he answers, “Because I need help and sometimes the teachers not help me because they busy doing other things.” “Oh. Well, can’t you wash your hands by yourself at Miss Ana’s?” “No, I need help”. Meanwhile, I’m getting nervous that he’s not actually going to make it to the bathroom. “Ok, Quinn. Well, go ahead and go potty.” “Ok, Mommy”. He turns, walks five steps, turns back around, hand still on crotch, comes back over “Mommy, well sometimes I do wash my hands at Miss Ana’s”. I think the teacher’s getting nervous now too. “Ok, Quinn. Well, that’s good. Now go potty”. He finally makes it into the bathroom, then yells from across the room “Mommy! They got two potties in here!”. Everyone in the room stops and laughs. “Mommy! The potties are little!” Again, laughter. A few minutes later, from the bathroom again “Mommy! They not have any stools in here!” “You’re right Quinn,” I answer. “That’s because you can reach without stools”. “Yes, mommy, you’re right, I can reach!! Look, Mommy! I can reach!” More laughter. The Assistant Admissions Director, who is in the room as well along with The Admissions Director who I think must feel like such a rock star at this time of year what will all the parents piling on the asskissing, pipes up “You’ve got a regular Jim Carey”.