As a stay-at-home mom, I have an undeniable affinity for child care—almost as strong as my love for chocolate cake. To be truthful, it doesn’t even need to be educational. I appreciate daycare, Mother’s Day Out, Pre-K, nursery school—it’s all music to my ears. The programs, the teachers, and the respite of dropping my kids off so I can catch my breath while they learn and play in a safe environment are invaluable.
While I could teach my kids their ABCs, I also have to juggle keeping the living room tidy and ensuring everyone is dressed appropriately. Clearly, I’m one of those parents who struggles to maintain sanity while managing all of this. Child care, in any form, is essential for my well-being.
And let’s talk about teachers—they’re nothing short of miraculous. Their commitment to education is inspiring, and I often find myself suppressing the urge to hug every one of them while shouting, “Thank you for being my lifeline!” Because, honestly, they truly are.
This year, I made the choice to enroll my two youngest in full-time preschool, motivated by the series of chaotic events that unfolded in my home. For instance, I could leave the room for a mere moment, only to return and find my toddler applying all-purpose cleaner to her face as if it were a high-end moisturizer. Or discovering my oldest washing his hands with an entire banana. Not to mention the relentless 95 days of my preschooler acting like a cat and rubbing against my legs during breakfast—despite having no pets. The tipping point came when my “cat-son” decided to take a bathroom break in the backyard. That was the day I knew preschool was a necessity.
Years ago, when I was a working mom with one child in daycare, I was consumed by guilt. I hurried to pick him up after work, cherishing each moment together. If I had to stay late, sadness would wash over me while I sat in my cubicle. It wasn’t until I left my job and had two more children that I began to appreciate the gift of child care.
I am the kind of mom who always forgets picture day, never brings party favors, and constantly feels the pressure of doing more for the teachers. If it weren’t for them, I’d probably be attempting to teach math myself—and that’s just not happening!
My daughter’s hair often resembles a tornado aftermath, and, despite my efforts, I can’t quite manage to make it look presentable. When her teachers send her home with beautifully braided pigtails, I feel a sense of relief, as if I have a village supporting me.
Preschool provides my children with the skills to use scissors properly, avoiding haircuts for each other or poking holes in the tablecloth. They learn to line up, sit quietly, take turns, and act like little humans. They even sing songs with movements, and occasionally, my 4-year-old sings to me in a human voice instead of a cat.
The structure, the seesaws, the crafts—all without the cleanup for me—allow my children time to miss me and vice versa. It teaches them that Mommy always returns, sometimes even a bit early, to pick them up. Those precious hours recharge me enough to humor the cat play, which is necessary since motherhood can truly wear you out.
I am grateful for preschool and, of course, cake.
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Summary
This article reflects on the necessity of preschool in a stay-at-home mother’s life, detailing the chaos of daily parenting and the relief that comes from enrolling children in structured educational environments. The author expresses gratitude for teachers and the invaluable role they play in both her children’s development and her own mental well-being.