|And this was one of the better photos.|
I realize I may be showing my age here, but back in the Paleolithic Age when I attended preschool, I'm pretty sure that the "application" process mainly consisted of showing up at whatever school was closest to your house and hoping that the teacher wasn't a child molester or a chain smoker. These days the process to gain entrance into one of the finer institutes of lower learning more closely resembles what I went through when I was choosing a college. Other than the lack of requirement for some sort of standardized testing, the applications are almost the same: multiple pages of personal information, essay questions, even a family photo.
If you follow the Misadventures over on Twitter, you've probably noticed that I've been making fun of preschool applications for the last few weeks. There's a reason for this: it's because the whole thing is patently ridiculous. Here are the questions I'm supposed to answer:
Please describe your child.
The honest answer: He's not even two years old! He's barely a person. Let's see... he thinks it's hilarious when his sister farts, he doesn't eat avocado, and he's currently laying on the kitchen floor kicking and screaming because I won't let him play with the vacuum.
The spin: My son is a happy little boy who finds joy in the smallest moments. He is decisive and unafraid to state his opinion. His attention span is remarkable when he finds something he's interested in exploring.
Why do you think our school is a good fit for your son?
The honest answer: I don't know how great a "fit" it is for my son, but you're one of the few places in town that offers a full day preschool program (9am-3pm) and Mommy needs some alone time.
The spin: My son is a thoughtful, creative, very sensitive boy who I believe will thrive in a school that offers both structure and the freedom to explore new ideas. After touring the school and talking with other parents and students, I'm impressed with how confident and well-spoken the students are, and I can only imagine the extent to which my son would bloom under the tutelage of such an institution.
I'm an ace bullshit artist, but I feel kind of bad for the kids who don't have a parent who is a writer; it takes some major talent to figure out a good spin for "he's a biter".
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go make an appointment for our professional family photo shoot.