Why We Chose a Charlotte Mason Preschool Life
When my oldest was still toddling around in footie pajamas, well-meaning friends would ask which preschool we had chosen for him. Their faces often fell a little when I explained that we weren’t enrolling him in one at all. It wasn’t that I didn’t care about his education — far from it. It was that I had begun to see childhood not as a race to be won, but as a garden to be tended. Gardens don’t flourish when you yank the seedlings up every week to measure their roots. They flourish when they are given time, good soil, and a steady, loving gardener.
Charlotte Mason, the 19th-century British educator whose philosophy shapes so much of our home life, once wrote, “The question is not—how much does the youth know? when he has finished his education—but how much does he care?” Those words took root in me. I realized I could either prepare my children to perform for checklists and tests, or I could nourish their minds and souls so they’d care deeply about the world God made and the people in it. The first is faster and easier to measure. The second takes time, trust, and patience — three things preschool doesn’t often leave room for.
In our home, “school” for the preschool years looks like long mornings outside, the slow rhythms of baking together, snuggling through a stack of picture books, and learning to notice the sound of chickadees in the oak tree. We practice habits — attention, obedience, kindness — in the little things: hanging up a coat, stopping to listen, setting the table with care. I’ve seen how these early habits become the rails on which later academics run smoothly. A child who can listen well, follow instructions, and persist at a task will soar when it’s time for formal lessons.
Some worry that without preschool, children will “fall behind.” Behind what, I always wonder — and at what cost to their love of learning? I’ve met children who could rattle off sight words at age four but had already learned to roll their eyes at books. I’ve also seen children who entered school at six, brimming with curiosity, and quickly caught up academically without the weariness that comes from years of early drill. David Elkind, author of The Hurried Child, has written extensively about how rushing children into formal academics can steal the very joy that fuels true learning.
One of the most common objections I hear is about socialization. Surely, people say, your children will miss out if they’re not in a room full of peers every day. But I’ve found that the most natural place for a young child to learn how to live among others is within the family, among people of different ages, learning side-by-side in real life. In our neighborhood, my children interact with toddlers, teens, and elderly neighbors alike. They learn to adapt their tone, to be gentle with the baby, to respect the older gentleman’s stories, to negotiate whose turn it is on the tire swing. True social maturity doesn’t come from being grouped with twenty-five other five-year-olds; it comes from living among people of all ages and being guided by adults who love them.
I’ve also seen the other side. A dear friend’s daughter started preschool at three. She was bright and lively at home, but quickly learned that being loud and silly in class brought laughs from her peers — and that this was the currency worth chasing. My friend spent months gently unlearning habits that had been cemented in just a few short weeks. That little girl didn’t need more peer influence; she needed more time with her parents to learn whose approval really mattered.
This is not to say that every family must keep their children home or that preschool is inherently harmful. For some, it’s the best or only option. But if you have the choice, I want you to know you are not depriving your child of anything by keeping them close in these early years. You are giving them the gift of time — to grow roots deep in the soil of your family culture, to develop habits that will bless them for life, to be discipled in the faith and character you want to see flourish.
We begin formal lessons at six, in keeping with Charlotte Mason’s own practice. Before then, learning is constant but gentle — not measured in workbooks completed, but in hours spent outside, questions asked, stories told, and virtues practiced. I think of these early years as the wide, generous front porch of education. We are not yet inside the house, but we are looking out together at all that is to come, our arms linked, our pace unhurried.
If you’re curious about this way of beginning, I can point you to some of the voices and books that have shaped my own thinking. These are the works I come back to when I need fresh courage, a reminder of what matters most, or a bit of practical wisdom to steady my steps.
Further Reading
Charlotte Mason, Home Education – Volume 1 of Mason’s six-part series, where she lays out her vision for the early years, the importance of habit training, and why formal lessons wait until six.
Karen Andreola, A Charlotte Mason Companion – A gentle, story-filled introduction to Mason’s philosophy, with practical examples for daily life.
Susan Schaeffer Macaulay, For the Children’s Sake – A classic call to see children as persons and offer them a rich, relational education rooted in faith.
David Elkind, The Hurried Child – A research-backed exploration of the costs of rushing children into formal academics too soon.
Deborah Meier, The Power of Their Ideas – Insight from a pioneering educator on how trust, community, and real-world engagement foster genuine learning.
Erica Komisar, Being There – A compelling case for why a parent’s emotional and physical presence in the early years is essential for healthy development.
