My kids are two and a half years old. They’ll probably go to preschool in the fall, and from that point, if they’re like their parents, they’ll be in classes for at least the next twenty years. I think it’s okay if they do independent study for the first three.

The reasoning behind these pre-preschool classes is not ridiculous, I suppose. Get kids socialized, provide some developmentally appropriate stimulus, and get them used to the idea of learning from someone other than their parents. I suspect–and this has been corroborated by the very people who recommend these classes–that part of their appeal is the opportunity they provide for parents (moms, mostly) to hang out with each other.

That’s all fine, if it’s what you’re into. Maybe you feel like your kid (and you) need some kind of structure to make the most of your time together. Maybe you have more trust in an “expert” than in yourself to teach your kids the skills they need to succeed, or to be better kids, or to have fun, or whatever. As far as the value of these classes for my kids and me, I’m ambivalent at best.

On one hand, I do feel (especially after having been touring preschools lately) that my kids will be going into the proverbial lion’s den when they show up for their first day of school having never been away from their parents for more than a couple hours at a stretch. But on the other hand, I’m selfish and lazy.

Frankly, I cling jealously to these first few years where my wife and I are the center of our kids’ attention, even if they do sometimes drive us nuts. There will be a lot of other adults (and peers, God help us) in their lives soon enough; and our primacy will fade. So screw some cat from the local community center or for-profit kids’ edu-tainment outlet. I can teach my kids to play on the monkey bars, beat on a guitar, sing loudly and tunelessly, dance like spazzes, love books and run around in the woods myself, thanks very much.

As for the laziness, that’s another aspect of this era that I cherish. I know what’s coming down the pike. Gulping down meals, scrambling for the bus, dashing from one structured event to the next. Right now I’m very content to do one low-pressure activity per day, and never worry about being late. It may be the last few months of that for any of us.

I'm crying because I'm in touch with my emotions

As a parent, you are well aware that your own children are far smarter and better at everything they do than everyone else’s children. You know this because you know your children intimately, and because you’ve seen what they are capable of. You know that while they may appear to do and say things that give them the appearance of being normal toddlers, they are, in reality, much better than that.

For example, when you drop your kids off for the first day of preschool, and they cry bloody murder and throw themselves violently on the concrete sidewalk, and when you are forced to stay at school for the entire school day because the teachers are worried that they are going to hurt themselves if you leave their sight, this is not, as it may appear to the casual observer, a sign of emotional instability or good old fashioned fear or separation anxiety.

No, this is passion. This is an example of your children making mature emotional connections to new experiences – this is how they welcome a new place, new people and new routines. They do it this way because your children only know how to live life with their hearts (and their boogers) on their sleeves—all or none, baby, full throttle—when it comes to sharing their emotional experiences. This approach to life clearly arises out of your careful guidance and from watching dozens of romantic comedies with the likes of Hugh Grant and Jennifer Aniston.

And when your kids fight over one single toy while ignoring the thousands of other toys scattered around the house, including the dozens of toys that they were happily playing with just moments earlier, it is not because they are incapable of compromise or unable to exhibit patience and caring. Their cries are not representative of an emphatic lack of understanding of the idea of sharing.

No, you have raised your children to be ferocious in their pursuit of their desires. You have trained them to get what they want by whatever means necessary. You know that this is the only way to make it in this cruel, vicious world. You are not raising “sharers”; you do not stress community and politeness and decorum. All those pussies living on the commune walking around naked and eating yogurt and parsley can share all they want, but your kids—your kids!—are going to Harvard, damnit. And they’re going to be CEOs and they’re going to stomp on anybody that gets in their path to success, even it means ripping the squishy toy out of their sister’s grubby little hands.

And when your kids do something they were not supposed to do, and you ask them why they did what they did, and they answer your question with the same question that you just asked them, it is not a sign of obstinacy. They are not being unreasonable or trying to avoid disciplinary action. They are not trying to act like they don’t understand what it is going on, or pretend that they don’t recognize the rage in your voice.

No, your children genuinely want to know why they did what they did too. In their perpetual longing for intellectual growth your children are merely trying to discern the nuances of the world around them. When you yell and scream and say, “Why did you hit your brother?” and when they answer, “Why did I hit my brother?” with that sweet little innocent voice, they are looking to you to provide them with the answers to some of life’s most puzzling questions.

And because you understand your children so well, and because you know that the actions of your children have clearly demonstrated that they are better than any other children, you can rest at night with the peace of mind that your kids are going to be all right. Things are going to work out just fine.

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