“I just want her/him to play and have fun!” was a common refrain. “It’s all about socialization and forming new attachments!” was another.  I think I may have even offered up some load of crap along the lines of ”I want Aura to be able to exhibit the confidence she shows at home in other environments!” (Even I couldn’t stomach that one, though. I think I apologized for making the world’s most eye-rollingest statement shortly afterwards, then burned all my parenting magazines in a really huge bonfire. Or at least I hope I did.)

Look at her, exhibiting.

Yes, we were a thoughtful group. And we really did want to find schools that focused more on play than structured academics. But while we were all expressing what we kind of wanted, none of us said what we really wanted: NAPS. We wanted a school that offered so many opportunities for play, such thoroughly exhausting activities, that our kids would come home, throw back a lunchtime bowl of mac and cheese, then promptly march themselves straight to bed, where they would sleep for approximately four hours.

So far, the preschool we chose last fall has worked out well in all regards, naps included. Aura loves the place, has grown much more comfortable interacting with other children and being away from me, and shows a lot more confidence in physical activity. I feel great when I drop her off those two mornings each week, knowing that she is safe and cared for and entertained.

But. I’m starting to feel a little squirmy by just how much playing there is. Should preschool really be this fun? Shouldn’t it involve a bit more about numbers beyond 10? How many times does Aura have to hear about shapes and colors and sharingblahblahblah before she gets to take a stab at writing an actual letter? How about telling time? Identifying coins? TACKLING QUANTUM PHYSICS?!?

I’m not sure why I’m suddenly so fixated on the academic aspect of preschool. We already work with Aura at home on writing and phonics and all the other stuff that will soon lead her to book her own early-childhood, I-hate-my-parents therapy sessions. (Which I will have to drive her to, of course, making the entire thing so much more inconvenient.)

Honestly, it was last week’s mittens theme that really got me started on this academics tangent. The kids painted paper mittens, brought mittens for Show and Tell, read books about mittens. I suspect they would have had mittens for snack, too, if the teachers could have figured out that one.

I admit: I'd wear these.

All I could think of: Why mittens? Why not gloves? At least with gloves you can count up to five, or ten, or maybe learn about the names of each finger. I mean, seriously: Why have I sung along to ”Where is Thumbkin?” 650 times if not for Aura to be able to show off her knowledge of Ringman and Pointer and Pinky? With mittens, you get, what? A thumb? A bunch of other fingers mashed together? Unimpressive.

Yet I’m thinking this is one of many times when I need to back off and forget about it. Preschool is preschool is preschool. And for all I know, last week’s foray into the world of mittens led to profound Circle Time discussions on warmth and seasons and perhaps the utter frustration of global warming.

Plus Aura already knows the one word that counts the most:

Before I name the winner, allow me to observe how many of you have failed to appreciate the giveaway concept.  With a giveaway, you get something FREE. Like, I have something, then I give it. Away. To you. For FREE. I am flummoxed by how many people viewed the post, yet did not comment. My only hypothesis is that most people are not as cheap as I am. You could have a, a…tractor giveaway and I’d comment. I have absolutely no desire whatsoever for a tractor, but a free tractor? I NEED IT. GIVE ME THE FREE TRACTOR.

Anyway, I really am grateful to all readers, even those who do not fully appreciate getting something for nothing. And perhaps next time I won’t even ask you to say something witty or makes guesses about movie stars. I’ll just ask you to offer up your middle name or favorite color.  And when it becomes the Lamest Giveaway Ever, we will all know who to blame.

Yes. So. The winner, as determined by the ever-so-helpful True Random Number Generator, is #15, Cavalier, who shrewdly named Mel Gibson as a probable Golden Globe drunk. Excellent guess, Cavalier, and congrats.

Shall we take a moment to consider who Cavalier will soon be welcoming into his/her home, as soon as I get that DVD out the door?

None other than the delectable Stanley Tucci, one of Julie & Julia‘s brightest selling points. I find the diminutive Stanley very compelling. Not in a dirty-dreams kind of way, necessarily, but more the talent-and-skill kind of way. He’s like Napoleon, without all that hand-tucked-in-jacket, island-exile crap.

That about sums up this giveaway Friday. As we head into the three-day weekend, with its chance of more freakin’ snow, let me educate those of you unfamiliar with the wilds of Greater Boston on how we like our snowmen:

That’s right.  We like ‘em made out shaving cream. We also eschew snowmen with wide-set eyes, much preferring them to have twoeyessquishedtogetherreallytightly. Arms, eh. As long as they have two of them, somewhere in the general vicinity of their enormous rectangular nose, we’re good.

Finally, snowpersons with rosebud mouths or pouty lips have zero chance for survival.  You want to make it in metro Boston, you stick out your pipecleaner tongue. It’s like the middle finger you would have if the preschool teacher didn’t frown upon things like that.

“Yes, yes. Sure,” I replied and propelled her towards her light-up toothbrush. “Did you put on your light-up shoes yet? I think they’re over….OH NO. IS TODAY SHOW AND TELL?”

I swear to you, at this school it’s always Show and Tell Day. If it’s not the morning you’re supposed to bring something red to school, it’s the day you’re expected to bring in a photo from a family trip, or of an animal that hibernates, or maybe a picture you drew of a family trip during which there was an animal hibernating.

I have the vague sense that’s there a learning opportunity involved somehow, but have yet to nail that down. I can tell you that Aura has recently begun holding items on both sides, by their edges, sort of like a spokesmodel. “See?” she will say. “I am SHOWING this to you.”  Assuming she drops the narration and agrees not to scatter her fruit-leather wrappers all over the set, I’m thinking she could audition to be one of those gals on The Price is Right.  Learning opportunity be damned; our preschool offers career prep skills. Wait. Let’s initial-cap that: Our preschool offers Career Prep Skills. There. Much better.

Granted, there may be more to Show and Tell than meets the eye. But I wouldn’t know this, since asking the usually talkative Aura to describe the process is something akin to finding Atlantis, or perhaps expecting me to jog for any reason besides being held at knifepoint. There is an…insouciance in her descriptions that one can only assume is meant to drive me completely and then totally over the edge.  Allow me to demonstrate.

Me: Hey baby! How was school? Tell me what you saw at Show and Tell today!

Aura: Everyone brought something green.

Me: I know that, silly. That’s why Mommy was saying bad words this morning while we did a last-minute search of your play-food bin for pretend lettuce or limes, remember?  

Aura: Yes. Everyone brought in green things.

Me: Okaaay.  <knowing that friend Lee brought in Tinkerbell> So what did your friend Lee bring?

Aura: Something green.

Me: YES. IT WAS GREEN. <stealing quick drink from pocket flask> Was it maybe…Tinkerbell?

Aura: Yep. Tinkerbell. And you know what, Mommy?

Me: What, sweetie? <excited intake of breath>

Aura: She was green.

I rest my case.

But this is about me. Me me me.

The day before Aura started preschool (which she does love and is adjusting to splendidly and is therefore really an all-around perfect child, just as I suspected), I made a promise to myself. Every Tuesday and Thursday, as I marched Aura into school, I would be at least one thing: showered. I wouldn’t guarantee  myself ironed clothes or accessorized jewelry or even dry hair, but I would be clean.

So far I’ve made good on this promise, which I admit is distinctly less impressive than it even initially sounds since Aura has missed one million billion days of preschool, it being the Pit of Pestilence and all. Yes, I wear the same old pair of jeans and alternate between a couple of ratty hoodies, but I swear to you, I sparkle while doing it. Yet somehow this is becoming not quite enough.  I am beginning to feel a little cowed by some of the other mothers, most of whom are walking their adorable spawn in while also toting an infant. How is it that these mothers of two+ are pulling off perfect sweater-skinny-jeans-boot combinations at only 8:59 in the morning? What time are they getting up, anyway? I am stymied by these living, breathing examples of personal discipline.

And then there’s this one mother, who by all accounts seems to be a lovely person otherwise, who wears these sunglasses for which I would gladly trade some kind of limb.  No matter what she is wearing, the sunglasses make it look even better. She even showed up in pajama pants one day and still looked fresh from the runway. I am sorely tempted to ask her where she got them, but her kid’s not in Aura’s class and I would therefore need to invent a premise to justify approaching her, before I launch into an eyewear third-degree.

Honestly, that’s just too  much work for me. So instead, I shall make myself a second Drop-off with Dignity promise: Every Tuesday and Thursday, I will apply concealer. I’m not tying myself down to blush or lip gloss or anything else. But if I’m going to be too tired to go shopping for some proper clothes, at least no one will be able to tell.

Well, at least these two people in the immediate family have appropriate eyewear.