We just started researching pre-K for my three-year-old Ana Isabel.

Talk about daunting. There's hundreds of programs out there. So we've started by asking for recommendations from friends. We plan to visit some sites. And then we turned to the Internet.

That's when I came across the State of Florida Department of Education Voluntary Prekindergarten (VPK) Program Provider Kindergarten Readiness Rate Website.

A mouthful, for sure. But basically it rates VPK programs. It measures how well VPK providers prepare children for kindergarten using state standards.

You can check out one program, all providers in a city or the entire state for that matter.

I did a quick check of those that were recommended to us. It raised a question or two about one. But we'll still visit, ask those question and then make a decision.

Just for fun, I downloaded all the VPK providers in Broward and Palm Beach counties and then did a quick ranking.

The top score, or readiness rate, is 300, That means 100 percent of the students in that program were deemed ready for kindergarten. Those programs with low scores are required to provide an improvement plan to the state. And some programs, while listed, didn't have enough students for the state to measure.

Take a look. See how the program where you send your kid, or want to send or kid, did.

Broward County Palm Beach County

If nothing else, it's a starting point for questions for your VPK provider.

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Contributed by Akilah Johnson, SunSentinel.com

Is there a Florida Prepaid for pre-K?

Parents can send their 4-year-olds to three hours of free pre-K per day during the school year, but they still have to shell out big bucks so their kids can spend the rest of the day learning their ABCs and 123s.

So they can probably relate to a new study by Pre-K Now, which found that early childhood education is breaking the piggy banks of middle-class families across the country. The study looks at states where, unlike Florida, families must meet income thresholds to qualify for free pre-K. Earn too much, and you have to pay.

And pay they do.

In those states, preschool costs eat up about about 30 percent of a family's budget, beating out food, rent, car payments and healthcare, the study says. The study defined middle class as a family of four living on $51,523 to $103,046 a year.

Monthly expenses for Maryland's middle-class families look like this: $1,324 for rent, $995 on food, $1,559 on early education. That's a bit on the high-end of the scale. The low-end would be Louisiana, where rent cost $758 (which is wishful thinking down here), while childcare is about $809.

Another startling fact listed in the study: In every state, for families earning $60,000 year, a year of childcare costs more than a year's tuition at Harvard or Yale.

Pre-K Now is a national non-profit organization funded in part by the Pew Charitable Trust. The report, which was released Wednesday, is available here.

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Ana Isabel turns three next month. And all the talk among the parents of the three-year-old set is whether to send their children to Pre-K 3.

First off, Ana seems a bit young to me to be going to school. For Pete's sake, she's not even potty trained yet. (But that's a question for another post).

I don't see the benefit of sending Ana to what's essentially glorified day care. She's a bright child already reciting the alphabet and counting up to 12 in English and Spanish. She gets to 20 with a little prodding. She speaks in full sentences, albeit short ones she repeats all the time like "I don't want to!"

I know there's an argument to be made for socializing children at this age. Ana gets along well with other children, shares and plays well with others.

The certified teacher that runs the Mommy-and-Me program that Ana attends told my wife that everything Ana would learn in Pre-K 3, can be taught at home with simple lessons.

So can someone please explain to me the benefits to sending my child to Pre-K 3?

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I can't wait to see my 4-year-old son sing in his first-ever school function on Friday. It's going to be great.

It darned well better be, since I'm paying $45 for the privilege.

In fact, the ticket price for this spring extravaganza is so steep, that just one of us is going. In our household, we really can't justify spending nearly $100 to watch our son sing a couple songs along with a bunch of other preschoolers. I'll be bringing the video camera.

Frankly, I find it ridiculous. The price tag gets you in the door and entitles you to lunch. What if you just want to watch your kid sing, you're not interested in eating lunch and you're willing to pay a reduced fee, say half-price? No dice. From what I understand, they can't do that because then a lot of parents might want to do the same.

You know, I understand the function also serves as a fundraiser, but I'm also not too keen on the fact that at the beginning of the year, they enthusiastically tell you about how cute it will be to watch your little one in the spring program. Months later, they drop the price on you. So, unless you want to be known as the cheapskate or the parent who wasn't there to see their child perform, you'd better pony up.

Evan had better not get stage fright. I might have to demand a refund.

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There are still four months or so left in the school year, but already I'm thinking I'm in a bit of a pickle. This fall, Evan will be eligible for free pre-K.

Let me re-state that: FREE PRE-K!!! Woo-hoo!

Here's the wrinkle: The preschool that Evan currently attends and adores does not participate in Florida's Pre-K program. This was his first year that he was away from anyone other than his parents or grandmother, and he has flourished socially and intellectually. If he were to continue at the school, there's a good chance he'd be in the same class as many of his buddies (not to mention his girlfriend). But it would also be very pricey for us.

Given that Evan only goes half-days anyway, which is what the state offers (technically, three hours of instruction per day), then enrolling him in a school that does participate in the state program should be a no-brainer, right? Unless I want to continue handing over nearly $600 a month for 20 hours a week.

So ... how do I prepare Evan for transferring to a new school in the fall after he has grown accustomed to his current school?

And for those of you that want to find out which local schools are providers for free pre-K, check this link.

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By Matthew Strozier

So get this: my 21-month-old son watched Shakespeare.

I was stunned. Success for me would have been 10 minutes of Much Ado About Nothing in Miami’s Peacock Park on Sunday.

We got three acts, even squeezed a few minutes of the crucial start of Act IV. We left as Claudio disgraced his beloved Hero at the altar. “Give not this rotten orange to your friend,” he says.

My surprise was twofold. The first was physical: Alexander had thrown up twice during lunch at a nearby Cuban restaurant (no fault of the restaurant’s), so it was nice that his stomach didn’t erupt once more.

Still, there was something else. He was captivated. His stroller seat was reclined and for long stretches (in toddler terms) he didn’t move. If only the same were true for me. I looked around, noted little flaws in the production, went to get a drink and thought of how much I enjoyed a movie version of Much Ado I’d seen years ago. He saw magic; I was distracted.

It probably sounds like boasting to tell you the story “about the time my son watched Shakespeare.” And maybe it is.

But there’s another part of this story: kids see beauty we overlook. Theater is magical. My mind wanders far too easily to truly experience that magic. At least Alexander can remind me.

When did your kid surprise you?

Matthew Strozier is an assistant city editor at the Sun-Sentinel and the father of 21-month-old Alexander and 2-month-old Rowan.

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Today's Sun-Sentinel story about Florida's voluntary prekindergarten program is a good reminder to parents who are considering enrolling their children: Do your homework.

The first step is figuring out what schools in your area participate in the program. You'd be surprised that not all schools are participating. That may be for a number of reasons, including a school might be in the process of seeking accrediation either through the National Council for Private School Accreditation or through the state to meet the qualifications of the program.

Also, remember that parents need to fill out an application form to enroll their children. It's not just a matter of showing up at school and saying your Little Einstein is ready for school.

Lastly, the state's program is limited. It only covers up to three hours of prekindergarten during the school year. If you want your child enrolled in a full-day program, particularly at a private school, chances are you will still pay a pretty price, albeit a pro-rated one.

Check out this Web site for a list of frequently asked questions about the Florida's voluntary prekindergarten program.

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Today was Evan's first official preschool day. He'll be 4 next month, too late for enrollment in any of Florida's voluntary pre-K programs. I dropped him off with some trepidation, naturally. It was his first day in a new classroom, with new teachers, new everything. I checked out the other kids. Evan towers over all them, of course ... most of them are probably 3.

When I was initially told Evan would be put in a classroom with 3-year-olds, I was a little bummed. I had been hoping that there would be some sort of transitional classroom for those kids with late birthdays who will be past the Sept. 1 cutoff in Palm Beach County, as an acknowledgement that they may be a little advanced when compared to younger 3-year-olds.

A colleague of mine told me that her daughter, who just misses the cutoff by a week or so, has never once been at a disadvantage as a result of being one of the oldest in class. It has never made a lick of difference, I was assured.

I'm reassured and I know that realistically, it won't be a big deal to Evan whatsoever. Maybe, I hope, this will evolve into Evan taking a leadership role as the oldest kid. I have to admit, though, that I looked at the curriculum goals for the year and immediately thought that Evan already knows how to do 75 percent of the things on the list.

But as I spied on Evan through the window after saying goodbye this morning, I had to dismiss all of that concern. He barely looked back at me, he was so involved in an animated conversation with another boy. I know this is going to be a valuable experience for him.

Curious to hear what other parents think of the Sept. 1 cutoff. Too early? Just right?

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Lily told me yesterday that she "hates'' freckles.
She said I need to buy a product she saw on tv, to get rid of my freckles.
"It has a blue lid and you put it on your face and it gets rid of all your freckles,'' she said.
I told her that I liked my freckles, thank you very much, and that I was not buying this product with a blue lid.
"Then you won't be beautiful,'' she said.
She wants me to buy it for her. She's starting to get a couple of light freckles.
"When I was a baby, I had a clean face,'' she said. "So you need to get me that stuff so I can clean up my face.''
(!!!!)
I told her she has a beautiful face, already.
"I don't want to look like you,'' she said. "You have lots and lots of freckles.''
Sigh.
So she's 5 and ready for makeup. I took her with me that morning to a city office to look at a development file. She grabbed a business card, then got another, telling the receptionist, "This one's for my husband.''
Then on the way home, she asked me "where do you get married?''
"In a church,'' I responded.
"Do they put down a red carpet?''
"Well, you can get one if you want,'' I said to budding Bridezilla, "but not usually.''
"Do they have pink carpets?'' she asked.
"I suppose you could find one,'' I answered, (on ebay).

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My wife tells me about parents she knows with children about my daugher's age. (Ana Isabel is 21 months old.) And they're already talking about sending their kid to some pre- pre- kindergarten program.

I know there are hyper-competive parents out there who want to give their kid every advantage. And don't get me wrong, I want to give Ana every advantage as well. But school at 2? That just seems so foreign to me.

Here's an article in the The New York Times that details how children do better when they're the older kids in their class. It's seem logical since at such a young age, a few months can mean a world of developmental progress.

Look, I'm a proud papa who can rattle off Ana's long list of vocabulary words (a few even in Spanish). She strings some words together. She likes to sing something that sounds like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

I think she will get much more out learning from Carrie Ann and me at this point than from some program with 20 other kids. Does that make me strange?

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I know it sounds like child neglect, especially in Florida, to say that my five-year-old still cannot swim.
It's atrocious, I know.
Yes, I've put her in swim lessons. She's been through lessons three times.
And I used to be a swim instructor, teaching little kids just like Lily. And on top of all of that, we have a pool in our backyard, that she's been in since she was two weeks old.
But Lily is a fearful child, as I blogged about recently. She is a very feminine, fragile little "flower'' who looks athletic but is in actuality the dancer who would go flying off the stage and land in a pile of music stands.
I'm not criticizing her; I'm explaining her. She's an affectionate little love bug, and she just wasn't made for sustained physical exertion, or anything scary.
At times, I've committed myself to teaching her. I've had her in the pool every night after work, for lessons.
But for reasons unknown, she screams bloody murder. Last year, she screamed in bloodcurdling fashion, "Don't let me drown. I don't want to DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!''
The neighbors probably thought they were ear-witnessing a murder.
The subject came up recently, and she told us that the reason she cannot swim is that "I can't breathe under water.''
Really?
She's made some advancement. If you threw her in, (please don't), she could possibly swim to the stairs if they were close enough. It probably would not resemble any swim stroke, though.
And it never fails, from infancy to now, when she comes up for air, she has a look of absolute terror on her face. Her eyes are open as wide as they'll go, and she looks like she's come face to face with the grim reaper.
I'm not quite sure what to do. Apparently some of Broward's schools offer swim instruction, according to this story by Nick Sortal. Lily starts school in August, at Plantation Park Elementary.
Her brother, Creed, could swim when he was two and a half.
But it's looking like Lily will never embrace the idea of swimming in the deep end.
Is it possible she will reach adulthood still clinging to the edge of the pool?

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Apparently, it's very easy to unwittingly terrify a 5-year-old. This must be the age when the subconscious goes on a paranoid nightmare spree? Because of this, I've spent the last two nights in my daughter's bed.

Example: I had noticed that Lily never wants to sleep with any blankets, even though she has a really cozy, down-filled pink butterfly blanket I bought on ebay.

Finally she comes out with it the other night, the big question: "If I use covers, will I die?''

What are you talking about? I asked.

"You told me a  long time ago that if I used covers I would die.'' 

 I have no idea what she is referring to. Maybe I said if she wraps up in a plastic trash bag she'll die. But I'm quite sure I never told her she'd die under her cozy pink butterfly blanket from ebay.

"You must have misunderstood,'' I told her.

Then she woke up crying in the middle of the night. I had to go get in bed with her. I asked her what she was dreaming about, and she said, "A bear.''

Gulp. When I washed her hair that night, I used strawberry shampoo, and I joked, as I always do when using strawberry shampoo, that "now you smell like strawberries and a bear is going to come eat your hair.''

She thought it was funny. But I guess her subconscious was terrified. Ooops!

On Saturday she had her dance recital. Her grandma warned her not to lick her trophy or use it as a drinking cup because it might contain lead. And actually, we just wrote a story about kids' toys with too much lead in them. Lily took all this in quietly. Hours later she started telling Bob (her dad, my husband) that the trophy has 'boisons' in it that ruin your brain.

She's also been asking lots of questions about what kind of activities would land a person in jail.

I guess she's on a fearfest. 

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I have officially jumped into the world of competitive parenting.

My leap from the amateur to semi-pro leagues occurred during a recent fundraising event at my son’s daycare center. For several weeks I had been looking forward to the silent auction because one of the items was a sea-themed wooden toy chest, hand-painted by my son’s class of 2 year olds.

It had miniature sea horses and starfish. Green palm trees and white sand beaches. And a shore dotted with glued-on photographs of my son -- whose smiling mug happened to be front and center -- and his fellow artists.

In the past year, my son has churned out his share of wonderful art. An American Flag made from Popsicle sticks. A paper Christmas ornament. His handprint in hardened clay. I’m no Picasso, but I sense my son has extraordinary talent. And the toy chest is by far my favorite piece yet, even if it was a collaborative class effort.

I couldn’t attend the silent auction, but I sent my wife in with specific instructions: Pay whatever price it takes to bring that sucker home to Dad.

She interpreted my instructions to mean that she should pay whatever price, up to a point. Truthfully, I thought we would only have to drop a couple hundred dollars. But my wife was outbid handily by a mom willing to pay double that amount.

As a consolation prize, my wife successfully bid on an unassembled wooden playhouse. It came in what seemed like a hundred pieces and took four days to primer and paint.

The whole time I worked, I felt sorry for myself. I couldn’t stand the idea that my son’s sea-inspired masterpiece was bound for another home.

But you know what? My blues washed away the moment I saw my wife and son playing in his new playhouse. Apparently, it was perfect for hiding from invisible monsters and offered plenty of room for his favorite toy cars.

Sometimes taking home second-place isn’t so bad, after all.

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Lily recently picked up our wedding photo.

Of course, the first thing she wanted to know was "Why was Creed at your wedding?''.

Sure enough, there was her older brother Creed, when he was 1 1/2, sitting there on the steps at the altar with a wedding ring in his mouth.

[As an aside, this photo is one of the few actual records we have that this event even happened. The video was overdubbed by a football game. I don't watch football. That one is easy to figure out.]

I had to do a sudden prioritization. Which is the more important lesson for my daughter? That lying is bad? Or that having a child before you get married is bad?

"What now?'' I asked her.

"Why is Creed there?'' she wanted to know.

"He just pops up everywhere, doesn't he?'' I replied. "I don't remember.''

She's only 5. She's not ready for a detailed version of the story. But I'm not going to be one of those moms who sets aside all the embarrassing family secrets and then when she's 13, I say, "Lily, it's time for a chat.''

I find it's better if you make kids think they've always known Embarrassing Family Secret XYZ. And by the time they're ready to ask for details, all they'll have to do is look it up on a blog somewhere.

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Lily recently picked up our wedding photo.

Of course, the first thing she wanted to know was "Why was Creed at your wedding?''.

Sure enough, there was her older brother Creed, when he was 1 1/2, sitting there on the steps at the altar with a wedding ring in his mouth.

[As an aside, this photo is one of the few actual records we have that this event even happened. The video was overdubbed by a football game. I don't watch football. That one is easy to figure out.]

I had to do a sudden prioritization. Which is the more important lesson for my daughter? That lying is bad? Or that having a child before you get married is bad?

"What now?'' I asked her.

"Why is Creed there?'' she wanted to know.

"He just pops up everywhere, doesn't he?'' I replied. "I don't remember.''

She's only 5. She's not ready for a detailed version of the story. But I'm not going to be one of those moms who sets aside all the embarrassing family secrets and then when she's 13, I say, "Lily, it's time for a chat.''

I find it's better if you make kids think they've always known Embarrassing Family Secret XYZ. And by the time they're ready to ask for details, all they'll have to do is look it up on a blog somewhere.

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Lily turned 5 a few days ago, and insisted on a wedding themed birthday party. For a year now, since last year's Fairy Party, she begged to be a birthday "bride.'' The party was Saturday.

I made veils for all the girls, but Lily required that hers be the longest. I bought flowers for the girls, but Lily wanted hers to be the prettiest.

I think we can see what is happening here. Tiger Woods' dad built a great golfer. And I am building the world's worst Bridezilla.

I even found a wedding cake pinata. I doubt there are many other little girls throwing wedding birthday parties.
So I suppose this means there are people out there having pinatas at their wedding. I'm not sure which one is scarier.

Coincidentally, the night before her party, Lily stuffed a balloon into her shirt and said she was going to have a baby. I guess this made her party a shotgun wedding birthday party.

I made a comment that she was really too young for all this marriage stuff.

"Mommy,'' she said, "pretend like I'm 17.''

"How about 27?'' I responded quietly.

I think as long as I'm supporting the idea of a longlasting, committed marriage, there is no harm in her obsession. I could be wrong. I guess I'll find out when she's 17.

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My daughter is not yet 5 but already wants to be a stay at home mom. She doesn't even have a job yet, but she already doesn't want one.

Almost every time she's asked what she wants to be when she grows up, she says, "A mommy.''

"But that's not a job,'' I said. (I know. Clobber me.)

"I don't want a job. I want to be a mommy.''

"Well, who is going to pay your bills?'' I inquired.

"I don't know,'' she answered.

I'm not sure how to proceed on this issue. I've always worked full-time. I keep reminding her that her own mother has a job, and two kids, and does quite fine. Yet, would it be OK to support her idea of aspiring to be a fulltime housewife?

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Why am I wasting my time teaching my daughter to tie her shoes?

I see clearly, as I look around me, that there is no need for a person to learn this arcane skill. Most new shoes for kids, and even for adults, are made without shoe laces.

Wouldn't it be much, much easier for me to teach my 4-year-old how to yank a Velcro shoe strap?

Yet something within me cries out for the shoe lace. I remember Mrs. Roswell, my kindergarten teacher in Rockwell City, Iowa, letting us take home the classroom shoe-tieing aid -- a toy wooden shoe with a pretty lace.

I want my daughter to experience the frustration of finishing the knot and having it be so loose that it comes undone immediately. Or is crooked. Or one stupid loop is an inch long and the other one is so humongous it drapes under the shoe. So many important life lessons can be learned by a young child with a shoe lace. (Such as, for the child who wonders why his shoes aren't like everyone else's, "Because you are special,'' or "Because you don't make the decisions around here until you start paying rent.''')

Am I being old-fashioned? Should I give in to the Velcro Society?

I am inspired by the web site, Ian's Shoelace Site.

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