How To Live Like a Preschooler…

live like a preschooler

I often forget how young my daughter is.  She’s not even 4 yet, but somehow I demand more of her.  Not fair, I know.  I get frustrated when she takes her own sweet time getting her clothes on, or puts her shoes on the wrong feet, then quickly check myself.  She’s only been on this planet for a short time.

While there’s not a bribe around that would make me want to return to my youth and have to experience the pain and torture of high school again, I sometimes wish I could life my live more like a preschooler than a 40-year old.

Here’s how I’d do it:

•  I’d shun walking as a main mode of locomotion.  I’d run or skip. Everywhere.  Spontaneously.  To the mailbox, to turn on the kitchen lights, to wipe someone’s butt.  Preferably with a loping, Phoebe-esque gait.

•  I’d take great effort to perform the simplest tasks. There is no greater travesty than not being able to put your own shoes on or buckle your seat belt around a sea of Winter Wear. I’d let everyone around me know how hard my struggle is.  With a whimper if I have to.

•  My face wouldn’t be afraid to contort in the most exaggerated expressions whenever I’m: A) Surprised, B) Happy! C) Angry D) Eating something that isn’t a white starch.

•  Forget wardrobe variety!  How freeing would it be to pick out my favorite outfit and wear it at least four times a week?  Oh wait, I already do that.  Scratch this one…

•  I’d jump around.  A lot.  While on the surface this looks similar to the exuberant energy of running or skipping (see above), it’s a different animal.  This one involves no transportation, just pure expulsion of energy.  Jumping while someone is talking to me is required.  But bounding on the bed a thousand times before bedtime?  Even better.

•  I would ignore the invisible boundaries of personal space because I want you to see this thing on my neck.  See?  See it?  SEE IT?

•  I would consist (and insist) on a steady diet of pasta, pancakes and pixie sticks.  Who needs food groups?

•  Foods other than those listed above would serve merely as a vessel for ketchup, syrup or Nutella.

•  I’d put my emotions all out there.  Sadness and frustration would be unleashed like a tantrum of the Tasmanian Devil.  My husband might argue that I currently behave this way.  However, he ain’t seen nothin’ yet.  But the flip side?  My happiness and good mood would prevail and be contagious in their enthusiasm.

•  I wouldn’t underestimate the power of a band-aid to cure what hurts me.


  1. nice idea!! i like your post thanks for sharing

  2. I love the idea of throwing a “Tasmanian Devil” sized tantrum. Some days that would feel so good.

  3. Gina,
    In May of last year, I retired from 31years of teaching and developed a literacy app for beginning readers. I have a passion for showing parents and kids that reading opens the doors to their future and that reading doesn’t have to be hard but instead can be fun! My app is called Spider’s Lunch and is available on the app store but I also have a free ebook!! It is called, Are You Raising A Reading Wizard? and answers many of the questions that parents always asked me. I would love for you to take a look at it and tell me what you think! Good luck with your toddler!!

  4. I think it would be great to do all these things too. And I wouldn’t complain if someone took my ass off FB or put me in bed at 8 pm. Those little buggers don’t know how good they have it.
    keesha recently posted…My Profile

    • I know, right? At least three times a week, I have to negotiate at nap time with Miss P, and it usually ends with me ranting “One day you’ll WISH you could take a two-hour nap every day!”

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