Preschool shopping has been, quite possibly the number one most emotionally exhausting experience in my life so far. (aside from actual childbirth, or getting pregnant, or being pregnant, I sense a theme here… I digress) So after strenuous hours of research, phone calls, emails, voice messages and yelp reviews I had narrowed the playing field. Please note I have identified decision making as my personal Achilles’ heel, so that and my highly anxious personality really make this fun on all levels.

option one: In home Provider; commuting convenience; 2.1 miles from my home, nice. highly secure; eh, she had a baby gate at the bottom of the steps but I was comfortable the kids weren’t going to be coordinating any prison break-esque escapes with all the toys and activities that were available to them in their space. clean environment; yes. price; amazing. And personal references to boot (my neighbors kids still attend so that’s kind of a big deal). Not a bad deal, but without anything to compare it to….

option two: Elitist School #1; commuting convenience; yes. highly secure; yes. clean environment; yes. price; holey. f-ing. snap. They must be paving their floors in gold because I would need to sell my house to be able to afford part time tuition there. NEXT!

option three; Elitist School #2; okay. I really don’t even know where to begin. We pull up and it’s essentially a monsoon outside. The school is a transformed historic house with a rickety pole fence around the grounds. Inside the yard is a large garden with a life-size, faceless scarecrow mounted in the middle (or as O loudly proclaimed, “oh look it’s a dead-guy!” …thanks Despicable Me for the highly awkward and ironic catch phrase), chicken coops (uh, yea. Hello? how else are the kids going to practice baking without farm fresh eggs on premises), buckets and wheel barrels are strewn everywhere and the yard is nothing but mud and standing water. The front of the orphanage, oops, I mean school, has a large bay window on one side and two single windows on the other. We see all these little faces peering out of the single windows, and in the bay window we see a lone boy watering plants. weird. Inside is a train wreck. The girls who answered the door is in her full blown fish-net best. I kid you not. Her favorite t-shirt must have gotten run over by the lawn mower and instead of bidding adieu she simply knotted all the tears together. Honestly, her shirt could totally pose a strangulation hazard for the children. I would have told her so, or given her some money for a new one but she simply left us in this tiny hallway ridden with boots and raincoats to wander the building at our leisure, how… ahem, safe. We found out rather quickly there wasn’t really anywhere to wander expect the hall, an office and two classrooms, one which was locked (by a deadbolt at the TOP of the door, very horror film-ish if you ask me). So we walked to the other classroom and a young girl opens the door and peers out with her sad eyes, wild hair and spaghetti-O stained face and inquired as to which child we would like to adopt, I mean was ours. Yes, the cat is out of the bag. The entire experience was reminiscent of some French quarter century orphanage visit and we pretty much beat feet out of there as fast as we could and called the daycare mom. They start next week! Woo-Hoo!