Preschool Problems

I am at this horrible crossroads and I’m not quite sure how I got here. 

I had this wonderful, I mean W-O-N-D-E-R-F-U-L, preschool.  I sent my oldest two through this preschool and was so happy.  When it came time to send H, I was thrilled.  When problems really started to be noticed as “issues” and not normal childhood quirks, they were there.  They helped me find help.  They even started a special class for kids like H.  They didn’t care he wasn’t potty-trained.  My hand was held and I felt like I had someone on my side.  Ever more important because my husband, as wonderful of a dad as he was, still couldn’t admit that something just wasn’t typical about our little guy.  I could never say enough great things about this preschool.  The preschool who accepted my son for who he was and was willing to bend over backwards to help and meet his needs.

Until this year.

H is in two different classes.  A regular pre-K class (as his therapist recommends) and the special, developmental preschool class.  His regular pre-k teachers are an issue.

This year, even though I was assured it wasn’t a problem, potty training became an issue.  How do I know?  Because when H has an accident (and really, there aren’t many), he comes home smelling and uncleaned.  Dirty underwear thrown into his backpack.  It’s not good. 

Because he seems to not be clicking with the kids, and the teachers do not seem to be trying to help him.  We went to one birthday party and the kids ignored him.  Two even seemed to go out of their way to be not-nice to him.  Parents didn’t seem to care and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.  Now I’m torn about every birthday party invite that comes home.  Do we go because he is excited and it can be a good social opportunity, or do we not because of the potential problems that could arise.  My little boy is sweet and loving and wants friends; he doesn’t miss that he hardly has any.

I even think the teachers go out of their way to turn the kids against H.  When I was up there for the Christmas celebration, H was in line, following the directions.  A few of the kids got excited when they saw their parents and went running off to mom or dad.  H saw and thought he should to and did.  Every one of those kids, turned, and started tattling on H.  He wasn’t the only one.  He wasn’t the first; not by a long shot.  Yet it was tattling only on H.  The teachers brushed it off, but the underlying meaning wasn’t lost on me.

The teachers (did I mention that my older two children had these teachers with no problems?), never seem to have anything nice to say about my child.  After I had had it with their negativity, just a couple of weeks into school, I met with the director, and their negative comments stopped to me, but the looks, if ever so quickly, are still there.  The drawing of breath when I ask a direct question is still present.  I can tell they don’t like him, and judging from his not wanting to always go to school, I’m thinking he gets it to.  Not to mention, a few of the parents who are worthwhile, do let things slip about comments the teachers make about my child.

It is mostly a teacher issue, I know.  But it isn’t.  The director is aware of the situation and yet it continues.  Why employ teachers like that?  Teachers who are supposed to love all children, have a heart full of Christian acceptance (this is a church preschool), but don’t really.  These are teachers who only love perfect children.  Children who cause no problems.  Children aren’t perfect.  And worse, the director promised me last year during registration, that if there was an issue, we could always move H’s class, no problem.   Except when I asked, it was a problem.  The classes were all full.  Nothing could be done.  Funny.  I remember during H’s first year, I received a call from the director asking if I could move H to a different class so that another child could move into his class to help resolve a problem.  It didn’t bother me, so I moved H (same teacher, just a different class).  Why on earth couldn’t she do that for me?!!  For H.  Who she has known since he was born.  Now I can’t move him because the adjustment would be too difficult for my little guy.

I hate school days.  I consider pulling him out every week, multiple times a week.  But I don’t, because his therapist says it is probably still better for him to be there than not.  And if I pull him out of that class, I’d probably have to pull him out of the other class.  And things aren’t going as well there as I would like, it is a good class for him and he looks forward to that class.  And I need him as prepared for kindergarten next year as I can get.  And because I know that I need to learn to deal with crappy teachers like that because I won’t be able to control things as he goes further into school; although I won’t be paying a considerable amount of money for the pleasure.

So, here I now sit at the crossroads, trying to figure out if I send the baby there or not.  Because registration is already here, and it isn’t an easy school to get into.  And because I did once think they were the most wonderful preschool ever.  And I haven’t found another one.  And because I successfully sent two other children there, and I know the baby is a developmentally typical child.  Because they are nationally recognized.  But I hate them.  I hate them for not loving H.  For no longer accepting him.  For hurting me.  For betraying me.  I hate them.  Even if they are the best.