This morning I took M to visit her new day care. We’re moving her next week to St. George’s, which is where T went to preschool, because it costs $125 less a month than where she is now. We happened to get lucky; St. George’s had a spot come open in their eighteen-month class, and since M turns 18 months on the second, she could go right in. Naturally she’ll be the youngest in her class for a bit, but not for too long, I think; the teacher told me they expect two or three other new kids to join the class in coming weeks.
We don’t have any complaint to make about the care M’s received where she is now, but the economics of it are too much to argue with. That hundred twenty-five dollars each month we won’t have to spend is a Big Deal right now, and we had such a good experience with T at St. George’s, the decision more or less made itself.
When we got there and introduced M around, there was the usual amount of all the children staring at her because she was someone new, and M staring back because she didn’t know who any of these other children were, but soon enough she felt a bit more confident and started to explore the playhouse in the class’s outdoor area, and to investigate the toys in the room when everyone went inside for snack time.
A bit later one of the other teachers came in, a woman who had been school director when T was there, hugged me, was introduced to M, and gathered up the class to go out onto the other playground. M poked around some of the playground, discovered one of the play automobiles, and got in for a ride around the sidewalk circuit, with Daddy pushing. After that we picked up and went back over to her soon-to-be-former day care, arriving in time for the end of morning water play and lunch.
