Diary of a Daycare Teacher

preschool logic

 Preschool Logic—Where Anything Can Be Anything (Except What It Actually Is)

Dear Reader,

Day Five. You'd think by now I'd be able to handle the wacky world of preschoolers, but nope. Every day is a new adventure in confusion, logic-defying statements, and an endless supply of snack-induced chaos.

Take Emma (not her real name, but she's definitely an Emma). During free playtime, she waltzed up to me, holding two blocks in her hands like they were the most precious thing in the world, and said:

"Miss, I'm building a castle. But it's also a car. And it's going to the moon. But you can't come. Only me and the blocks. The blocks are my best friends."

I just stared at her for a moment, blinking like a confused robot. I mean, *how* do you respond to that? A car-castle-rocket hybrid? It's like she was trying to make the next big crossover movie—*Cars 4: Castle on the Moon*.

So, in my best "I'm totally not questioning your sanity" voice, I said, "Oh, that's so cool, Emma! I guess I'll stay here and keep Earth safe. You know, like a superhero."

She narrowed her eyes at me like I was the weird one. "Miss, you can't keep Earth safe. You're the queen of the trashcan."

...I just stood there for a second, blinking, processing. *Queen of the trashcan?*

"Queen of the... trashcan?" I repeated, because surely I hadn't heard her correctly.

She nodded seriously. "Yeah. The trash loves you because you tell it where to go. You're its queen. The trash is your loyal subject."

It took everything in me not to laugh. So, here I am, folks—*Queen of the Trashcan*, reigning supreme over my kingdom of garbage. Forget moon travel, I've got *compost* to manage.

And just when I thought the day couldn't get weirder, in walks Jack, holding his juice box like it was an ancient artifact. He looked me dead in the eyes and said, "Miss, my apple juice is broken."

Naturally, I asked, "What do you mean 'broken'?"

Jack sighed, looking at me like I was clearly not up to speed on the latest juice science. "It's not juice anymore. It's apple soup. I shook it."

Oh. My. God. I couldn't stop myself from laughing. *Apple soup*? Did he just invent a new drink? I could see it now—coming to a cafe near you: *Cold-pressed Apple Soup*.

Trying to hold it together, I asked, "Well, Jack, what happened to the juice?"

He shrugged, completely unbothered. "Science, Miss. It just... turned into soup."

I couldn't argue with that logic. It's *science*. And you know what they say: *if you shake it, they will come—soup, that is*.