Where Does Caitlyn Go To School

Where Does Caitlyn Go To School?

Comic Relief from the Stressful Private Schools Admissions Process

GothamSchools says, Where Does Caitlyn Go to School? is "a new comic novel that doubles as a private school admissions manual". Sort of.

Available to read on your Kindle, and with the app Kindle for iPod, on your iPhone or iPod Touch . Read the First Chapter of Where Does Caitlyn Go To School? Here. Enjoy!

For more, get Where Does Caitlyn Go To School? on Amazon.

Gold City, Fall 2007

Every morning, at drop off, Jessie Green admired the solid brick edifice and sighed with pleasure. Caitlyn, her little girl, aged four, had come a long way.

It was a nursery school that resembled an intimate liberal arts college. Located in the former home of a nineteenth century robber baron, the building retained its original fretwork moldings, dark hardwood floors, intricately carved fireplaces, and large paneled windows. Each airy classroom was painted a specific shade of butter yellow according to the precepts of Pluteau, the great French early childhood educational theorist.

The teachers at Child Maison had recently returned from a summer trip to the South of France, financed entirely through tireless auction-organizing by the school’s hard-volunteering parents. Thanks to the staff’s research, the classrooms now contained fresh-cut lavender, said to vibrantly stimulate young minds. Children turned in three circles and entered the classroom backwards, starting off the day regarding the world in unorthodox new ways.

At the most recent Parents Association meeting, the directeur des programmes, Marsha Goldstein, a native Golder who retained a heavy French accent since her Junior Year Abroad thirty years ago, looked meaningfully at the audience. She removed a papier-mâché mask from her face, adjusted her filmy silk neckerchief, and declared triumphantly, “The children’s creativity has risen to never-before seen heights.” She boldly challenged the parents to a new fund-raising drive so she and the teachers could return to France next summer to continue their research. In support of the new drive, Mme. Goldstein proudly announced that applications to the nursery school had risen dramatically, so more and more toddlers could be shut out of the Child Maison experience.

Sitting in the magnificent auditorium, the robber baron’s old ballroom, Jessie could only congratulate herself that she had managed to enroll Caitlyn in this illustrious institution on such short notice, moving just over the summer from Glenville because her husband Chris had been transferred to the Gold City office of Worldwide Wallet (www.www.com) in his new role as Vice President of North American sales. Worldwide Wallet was software that allowed you to instantly compute your net worth, up-to-the-minute, 24-7, in any currency, anywhere in the world. The company had an extraordinary HR department that had not only booked for them Gold City’s most savvy real estate broker, but also its most savvy school consultant, Irene Wexford.

Before he knew any better, last spring when they were still in Glenville, Chris had said, “Get this. Would you believe HR actually retained a schools consultant for us? How hard can it be to get into nursery school? They have consultants for every stupid thing these days. It sounds like something you’d see on a reality show.” Chris watched a lot of reality shows, as well as “Bare Knuckle Brawling”, “Turkey Shoot”, and sports, so he knew his subject.

But Irene Wexford had really come through. They’d had one phone conversation where Irene had asked them what kind of school they wanted for Caitlyn, and Jessie had said she thought she’d wanted progressive, although she wasn’t completely sure what that meant, and somehow here Caitlyn was at Child Maison.

“At the last minute, some parents, Icelandic musicians, broke the contract. Something about a new hit single.” Little Sven’s loss was surely Caitlyn’s gain, because despite being in a new place, in a big city, she was already thriving this fall, producing magnificent easel paintings, clearly associating letters with sounds, and exuberantly playing chase with new friends. Child Maison was a big step up from her nursery school in Glenville, Tot Time, where Caitlyn had spent her time pasting leaves and cotton balls on construction paper since the curriculum’s sole focus was the seasons and major American holidays.

Child Maison’s parent body was unlike that at Tot Time as well. While Tot Time tykes were brought to school by an assortment of moms in fleece outerwear, Child Maison escorts ranged the gamut. There were a few artistic, laid-back fathers—Jessie had noted that one was tall and quite handsome, many mothers, whose dress was usually carefully selected, and nannies from many developing nations as well as a handful from England, France (naturally at Child Maison), China (Mandarin was the hot language and what better teacher than a nanny with a captive audience), and Korea (Gold City moms who were ahead of the curve and had a good language fashion sense).

As a newcomer, Jessie was eager to meet other mothers. Irene had assured her that moms met other moms through their kids. And once again, Irene had come through.

Today, amazingly, Cappy Knickerbocker, a thin, immaculate, self-assured-seeming blonde, marched up to her at pickup and said, “Does Caitlyn want to play with Tempo one day after school?” Jessie knew Cappy’s name, and coincidentally, even a little bit about her. Cappy was the wife of Bill Knickerbocker, who was an investment banker at Fenwick Whaley. Jessie knew this because Fenwick Whaley was a major client of Worldwide Wallet, since many investment bankers enjoyed computing their net worth any time, anywhere. Chris had actually gone to call on Bill at his office, and had told Jessie Bill’s kid also went to Child Maison and that his wife’s name was Cappy.

Jessie would have happily accepted the play date offer no matter what, but certainly it didn’t hurt at all that Chris was doing business with Bill. “Caitlyn would love that,” she said immediately, remembering that at pickup yesterday Tempo had purposely pushed Caitlyn over. “It’s so important for girls to have play dates.”

"Socialization is critical,” affirmed Cappy.

Jessie took the plunge. “Caitlyn’s not really ready for drop off play dates. She gets very anxious when I’m not around.” Certainly, back in Glenville, Caitlyn had wandered up and down the block at will, knocking on the doors of neighbors with young kids, and spending whole afternoons making a ruckus in various basement playrooms, but this was Gold City. For all Jessie knew, Caitlyn would get very anxious without her mother around.

"Of course. When’s good for you?”

The truth was, any day, but strategically, Jessie said, “Wednesday.”

Cappy thought for a minute. “That’s the day that Nevin Jorgensen usually comes over.” Jessie was about to intercede, “OK, Thursday,” when mercifully Cappy continued, “You can come over Wednesday too if that’s your best day. I’m sure Tempo would enjoy playing with Caitlyn and Nevin.”

"Yes, Caitlyn would like that,” concluded Jessie, sealing the deal. She would be glad to get to know Nevin’s mother, Vivian, too. She had seen Vivian at the Parents’ Association Meeting. Vivian chaired the Winter Auction Event committee and had come to energetically solicit big-ticket donations.

“If you have any friends who are celebrities, or have any unused objects taking up space in your apartment like Old Master paintings, please remember Child Maison this winter,” she pushed the crowd. Mme. Goldstein nodded appreciatively. In her mind she was far away from this auditorium, holding hands with the sexy French president, sipping Pernod by the sea.

Thanks to Cappy’s welcoming gesture, just like that, Jessie had her first social engagement in Gold City. She noted it down in her pristine leather diary, took Caitlyn’s hand, and contentedly watched her as she crunched leaves underfoot with her new pink butterfly light-up sneakers...

For more, get Where Does Caitlyn Go To School? on Amazon.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, schools, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.