When Brooke was three, we enrolled her in the preschool that her sister had been attending for the last two years. We loved it and were excited for her to join her big sister.
The school, located in the basement of a local church, was as cute as they come and, to me, was exactly what preschool was ‘supposed’ to be. It was a family operation – run by two sisters and their mother, all of whom had clearly found their calling. They loved the kids as much as the kids so obviously loved them. But as I would soon learn, my version of what things were ‘supposed’ to be was very often radically different from what my daughter actually needed.
While they adored her, and she them, they just couldn’t provide the kind of environment that she so desperately needed at the time. Despite the fact that we’d found the…
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