Daycares in oxford ms: THE Top 10 Daycares in Oxford, MS

Опубликовано: December 29, 2022 в 4:57 pm

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Категории: Miscellaneous

THE Top 10 Daycares in Oxford, MS

Daycares in Oxford, MS

Description:

Providing excellent childcare to the families of Oxford, Mississippi since 2002.

Description:

Little Angels Preschool and Daycare Center in Oxford, Mississippi is a Child Care provider that can accommodate up to 50 children. Their curriculum seeks to provide a high quality, nurturing, fun and safelearning environment that is appropriate for the child’s overall growth and development….

Chiree’s Daycare

815 Butler Dr, Oxford, MS 38655

Costimate: $140/day

Description:

Chiree’s Daycare creates a supportive, nurturing, and safe environment to ensure parents’ confidence in their child’s safety, happiness, and well-being. The program is play-based, developmental, and designed tocreate the foundation for a lifetime of successful learning and relationships of children….

Description:

If you are looking for a preschool, a trusted part-time or full-time daycare provider, or educational before- or after-school programs, My Baby, Your Baby. Our Children Learning Center offer fun and learning atan affordable price….

Description:

Camp Lake Stephens in Oxford, MS is a summer camp that serves families with children from seven to twelve years old by providing safe, enjoyable, and exciting programs. The camp aims to provide a variety of ageappropriate activities such as swimming, rappelling, archery, canoeing, kayaking, arts and crafts, high ropes, and wilderness survival….

Description:

Camp Hopewell in Oxford, Mississippi is the camping ministry of the Presbytery of St. Andrew. Their 280 acres are located in the middle of the Holly Springs National Forest. They provide children fromkindergarten to the tenth grade day and resident camps, as well as diabetes camps. Various traditional camp activities like swimming, arts and crafts, sports, and hiking are also available. They are accredited by the American Camp Association….

Description:

Discovery Day School is a ministry of Oxford-University United Methodist Church located in Oxford, MS that provides the highest quality preschool experience. The school offers Christian-based programs aiming toencourage children to develop to their fullest potential socially, emotionally, physically, mentally, and spiritually….

Description:

Learner’s Playhouse is devoted to providing a caring community known for providing quality early educational programs to a diverse population. The center prepares children for a lifetime of learning throughactively involving them in meaningful experiences….

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FAQs for finding daycares in Oxford

In 2022 what type of daycare can I find near me in Oxford, MS?

There are a variety of daycares in Oxford, MS providing full time and part-time care. Some daycares are facility-based and some are in-home daycares operated out of a person’s home. They can also vary in the degree of education and curriculum they offer. Additionally, some daycares offer bilingual programs for parents that want to immerse their children in multiple languages.

How can I find a daycare near me in Oxford, MS?

If you are looking for daycare options near you, start several months in advance of when you need care for your child. Care.com has 264 in Oxford, MS as of October 2022 and you can filter daycares by distance from Oxford or your zip code. From there, you can then compare daycare rates, parent reviews, view their specific services, see their hours of operation and contact them through the website for further information or to request an appointment.

What questions should I ask a daycare provider before signing up?

As you visit daycare facilities in Oxford, MS, you should ask the providers what their hours are so you can be prepared to adjust your schedule for drop-off and pick-up. Ask what items you are responsible for bringing for your child and what items you may be required to provide that will be shared among other children or the daycare staff. Also, make sure to check directly with the business for information about their local licensing and credentials in Oxford, MS.

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Related Services in Oxford, MS

In Home Child CarePart Time Child CareAfter School Transportation

Additional Daycare Resources

Additional Daycare Resources

All Oxford CareMississippi Daycare

Oxford MS Preschool/Afterschool | Curriculum at The Children’s Academy

It
is important that we value our children’s eagerness to learn and prepare them for school success through developmentally appropriate materials. Our teachers
are excited to incorporate language/cognitive development, fine/gross motor,
and sensory resources that foster each child’s individual growth at their own
developmental pace. 

One Year Old’s (12-24 months): My First Curriculum 

My First School Curriculum
incorporates play activities that are structured through teacher/student
relationships. Furthermore, weekly assessments help modify instruction for the
benefits of early learners’ minds to create an overall learning foundation. Our
lead Teachers will be dedicated to incorporating full sensory activities that
nurture all their developmental domains. 

Two Year Old’s (24-36 months): Love Two Learn Curriculum 

At this age, children are meeting new challenges as fast as they come. Crawling, walking and eventually running are levels they accomplish in what seems like a blink of an eye. Children learn best if they are in a stimulating environment. Music, stories, outdoor play, and learning simplicities envelop much of the day. Our caregivers are dedicated in helping each child develop these skills through a trusting and loving relationship. A parental daily report is given to update each family on meal times, nap times, toilet training and all activities accomplished each day. Love Two Learn Curriculum allows
children to explore their definitions of educational prosperity with guidance
from their lead Teachers. Building and expanding from My First School
Curriculum, children will develop on pre-existing knowledge to strengthen
fine/gross motor, vocabulary, and letter recognition. 

Preschool and Three’s Core Curriculum and Foundational
Learning Supplement

Handwriting Without Tears (Core
Curriculum):

A kinesthetic approach towards learning. Furthermore,
having hands on activities and materials for the children to interact with
creates a better learning experience through muscle memory.

Preschool Prep (Foundational
Learning):

An extra bonus for our young learners’ minds.
This foundational source will add to the much-needed core values for our
students overall learning outcomes. It includes sight words, foundational math/writing
concepts, and much more.

Handwriting Without Tears: Three Year Old’s (My First
School Book)

Handwriting Without Tears (My
First School Book) is a developmental curriculum that nurtures the
children’s unique and incessantly progressing skills. Teachers create an
educational environment that prepares their students for Preschool success by
structuring the learning atmosphere through high quality Teacher modeling.

Handwriting Without Tears: Four Year Old’s (Kick Start
Kindergarten)

Handwriting Without Tears (Kick
Start Kindergarten) builds off the My First School Book in K-3 to
create an easy educational transition into Preschool. Lead Teachers will
prioritize the bridge between Pre-K and Kindergarten by flexible learning
platforms. Expanding young minds through differentiated involvement and
cross-curricular activities. 

“First about how my mother died” “Some questions of the theory of catastrophes” by Marisha Pessl published in Russian: Books: Culture: Lenta.ru detectives. The heroine of her debut book (after which Marisha woke up famous) has a very unusual name: Xin Van Meer. She is a connoisseur of literature, philosophy and science, can memorize the number “pi” up to the sixty-fifth decimal place and traveled with her father-professor (part-time – a note heartthrob) a huge number of cities across the country. At the same time, it so happened that events in Xin’s life happened more than once that completely changed her fate. The novel “Some Questions of the Theory of Catastrophes” by Marisha Pessl was published in Russian by the Inostranka publishing house. Lenta.ru publishes a fragment.

I will tell you about the death of Hannah Schneider, but first, how my mother died.

At three o’clock on the afternoon of September 17, 1992, two days before I received a brand new station wagon at Oxford’s Volvo and Infiniti from Dean King, my mother, Natasha Alicia Bridges Van Meer, on her A white Plymouth Horizon (dad called it “certain death”) crashed through a guardrail on the side of the Mississippi State 7 freeway and crashed into a tree.

Death came instantly. My death would have come just as instantly if, due to another inexplicable whim of fate, my father had not told my mother by phone in the morning that she did not need to pick me up from kindergarten today. Dad decided to get away from the students who always guard him after the political science seminar (topic: “Conflict Resolution”) and pester him with stupid questions. He’ll pick me up from Miss Jetty’s Kindergarten and take me to the Water Valley Preserve, Mississippi, to get to know the wildlife.

While Dad and I were being told that Mississippi had one of the best deer conservation programs in the country, with a population of 1,750,000 (only Texas has more), rescuers tried to use an autogen to extract Mom’s dead body from a wrecked car.

Dad said: “Your mother was an arabesque.”

He liked to describe her in ballet terms (compared to such elements as “attitude”, “plié” and “balance”), partly because she studied for seven years at the famous Larson Ballet School in New York and only transferred to the Ivy School on East Eighty-first Street at the request of her parents), but also because her whole life was subject to strict beauty and discipline. “Having received a classical education, Natasha developed her own style at an early age, which her family and friends considered very radical for their time,” dad said, meaning that her mother’s parents, George and Geneva Bridges, like her peers, did not understand why Natasha prefers to live not in her parents’ five-story townhouse near Madison Avenue, but in a tiny apartment in Astoria, why she works not in American Express or Coca-Cola, but in a non-profit organization helping young mothers, why fell in love with her dad, a man thirteen years older than herself.

After the third bourbon, Dad began to talk about how they met at the Stillman Museum of Ancient Egyptian Art on East Eighty-sixth Street, in the Hall of the Pharaohs. Papa spotted her across the hall, crowded with the mummified remains of ancient Egyptian kings and visitors eating a thousand-dollar duck from their noses; all profits were to go to charities to help third world children (Dad was accidentally given two tickets by a colleague who couldn’t make it that day, so I have Columbia University political science professor Arnold B. Levy to thank for my presence in this world. and his wife’s diabetes).

Natasha’s dress kept changing color in my father’s memories. Sometimes, “the ivory fabric hugged her perfect figure, so that her mother attracted all eyes, like Lana Turner in the movie The Postman Always Rings Twice.” Then suddenly it turned out that she was “from head to toe in red.” Dad came to the exhibition with a lady – a certain Miss Lucy Marie Miller from the city of Ithaca, who had recently entered the position of an assistant teacher in the department of English literature. What color was her dress, dad did not remember at all. I even forgot how they met and how they said goodbye – perhaps after a brief discussion about the remarkable preservation of the hip bone of King Taa the Second. I forgot – because just a couple of moments later I saw near the ankle joint of Ahmose the Fourth a blonde with an aristocratic profile – Natasha Bridges, absently talking with her companion, Nelson L. Ames (one of those San Francisco Ames).

– The guy had the charisma of the red carpet, – said dad about him, although in more good-natured moments, the unfortunate Mr. Ames turned out to be guilty of only “a weak posture” and “some kind of stubble on his head.”

Mom and dad’s romance developed rapidly, as if in a fairy tale. Everything was as it should be with them – the evil queen, and the stupid king, and the amazing princess, and the impoverished prince, and unearthly love (birds and other forest creatures flocked to admire her on the windowsill). There was a terrible curse in the end.

– You will die miserable with him! Geneva Bridges seems to have said to her mother during their last phone call.

Papa could never quite explain why George and Geneva Bridges weren’t delighted with him – the rest of them were! Gareth Van Meer was born in Biel, Switzerland on July 25, 1947. He did not know his parents (although he suspected that his father was a hiding German soldier). He grew up in Zurich, in an orphanage for boys, where meeting Love (Liebe) and Understanding (Verständnis) is as unlikely as the actors of the Rat Pack (Der Ratte-Satz). Dad had nothing behind his soul – only “iron will” pushed him to “greatness”. With his academic success, dad earned a scholarship at the University of Lausanne, took a course in economics, taught social science at the Jefferson International School in Kampala (Uganda) for two years, worked as head teacher at the Diaz-Gonzalez school in Managua (Nicaragua) and at 19In 72 he first came to America. In 1978 he defended his dissertation at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government. The subject of his highly acclaimed dissertation was “The Curse of the Freedom Fighter: The Delusions of Guerrilla Warfare and Third World Revolutions.” For the next four years, dad taught in Colombia (in the city of Cali), and then in Cairo. In his spare time, he did research work in Haiti, Cuba and African countries, including Zambia, Sudan and South Africa, collecting data for a book on territorial conflicts and international aid. Returning to the United States, he took a Harold G. Clarkson-sponsored political science position at Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island,1986 — Ira F. Rosenblum-sponsored faculty position in World Order at Columbia University in New York. At the same time, his first book, The Powers That Be, was published (Harvard University Press, 1987). That year, my father received six different awards, including the Nelson Mandela Award from the American Institute of Political Science and the prestigious McNeely Award.

But when George and Geneva Bridges at 16 East Sixty-fourth Street met Gareth Van Meer, they did not honor him with a prize or even a certificate of honor.

– Geneva is Jewish, she couldn’t stand my German accent. Although she herself spoke with an accent – their family was from St. Petersburg. She complained that my speech reminded her of Dachau. How much effort I put into fighting the accent – thanks to this, now I have a perfectly clear pronunciation. Eh, what’s there … – Papa waved his hand contritely. – Apparently, they thought that I was not good enough for their daughter, and that’s it. They were going to pass her off as a decent boy with a stupid haircut and solid real estate. Of those who see the world only through the windows of the presidential suite at the Ritz. Her parents did not understand her at all.

And so my mother, “having connected her duty, fate, beauty and mind / With a wandering foreigner, traveling / Here and there”, fell in love with her father’s stories about various cases in the seas and in the field. They registered their marriage in Pitts, New Jersey, recruiting two witnesses at a roadside diner: a truck driver and a waitress named Peach, who hadn’t slept in four days and yawned thirty-two times during the ceremony (dad counted). Around this time, the pope had a disagreement with the conservative head of political science at Columbia University. It all ended in a huge scandal over my father’s article entitled “Stiletto in the sleeve: the quirks of American humanitarian aid” (Federal Journal of International Relations, vol. 45, no. 2, 1987). Dad quit before the end of the semester. They moved to Oxford, Mississippi. My dad taught a Conflict Resolution course at the University of Mississippi, and my mom went to work for the Red Cross and became interested in collecting butterflies.

Five months later I was born. Mom decided to call me Xin because during my first year of studying Lepidoptera at the Southern Beauties Butterfly Association (Tuesday evening classes at First Baptist Church, lectures on “Habitat, Storage, and Rear Wing Symmetrical Arrangement” and “How exhibits should be beautifully arranged in the collection”) was able to catch only one butterfly – the blue cassius (see the article “Leptotes cassius” in the book “Dictionary of Butterflies”, Meld, 2001). Natasha tried different types of nets (linen, muslin, net), different flavors for bait (honeysuckle, patchouli), different methods of sneaking (windward, leeward, traverse) and all kinds of swings (overhead swing, short lunge, Lowsell – Pete). Beatrice “Bee” Lawsell, chairman of the Southern Beauties, even gave her mother private lessons on Sundays, teaching her how to hunt butterflies (“zigzag”, “tangential approach”, “high-speed dash”, “capture on takeoff”), as well as the art of hiding your shadow. Nothing helped. Belyanka, the admiral, and the viceroy bounced off their mother’s net like magnets with the same poles.

“Mom thought it was a sign and devoted herself entirely to catching blue cassius,” said dad. – Every time she gathered in the fields, she brought home about fifty pieces. Became a real connoisseur. One day she received a call from Sir Charles Erwin himself, chief lepidopteran specialist at the Surrey Entomological Museum in England, who had been shown four times on television in a program about insects. She and her mother talked about the peculiarities of feeding Leptotes cassius on mature moonbean flowers.

When I started to express my hatred for my name too loudly, dad always said the same thing:

— Rejoice that she did not catch greenish mother-of-pearl or scabiose bumblebee!

Lafayette County police officers said that Natasha apparently fell asleep at the wheel in broad daylight. Dad admitted that four or five months before the accident, Natasha developed the habit of staying up until morning with her collection. She fell asleep in the most unlikely places: stirring oatmeal on the stove, in the doctor’s office on the examination table when Dr. Moffett listened to her heart, and even on the escalator between the first and second floors of the Ridgeland department store.

“I told her: don’t be so disfigured by these boogers,” dad said. After all, it’s just a hobby. And she fiddled all night with her dryers and straighteners. She was sometimes so stubborn… If something gets into her head, you can’t move her. And at the same time fragile, like her butterflies. Like any artist, I felt deeply. Sensitivity is good, but for such people, everyday life is probably hard. I also joked: they say, it probably hurts her every time a tree is cut down somewhere in Brazil, or an ant is stepped on, or a sparrow crashes into a window pane there.

I probably would hardly remember my mother if it were not for my father’s stories and remarks (all sorts of pas de deux and attitudes). I was five when she died, and unlike those brilliant people who clearly remember even their own birth (“Terrifying: like an earthquake under water,” the famous physician Johann Schweitzer said about this event), my memory of life in Mississippi , unfortunately, works intermittently.

Dad’s favorite photo, black and white, taken before they met. Natasha is twenty-one years old and is dressed up in a Victorian dress for some kind of masquerade (impudent pos. 1.0). The picture itself has not been preserved – if necessary, I drew illustrations from memory. Although mom is in the foreground, she seems to be lost in the interior, crowded, as dad said, sighing, with “bourgeois tsatskami” (actually, these are the originals of Picasso).

Even though Natasha looks straight into the camera, refined and impregnable, I don’t get a glimmer of recognition when I look at this blond beauty with well-defined cheekbones and gorgeous hair. Well, it doesn’t fit in any way with what I still remember, although in my memories there remains a general impression of calm self-confidence. Smooth, like polished wood, my wrist is under my arm; my mother takes me to a classroom with an orange carpet that smells of glue, or takes me in a car – milky-white hair almost hides my right ear, and only the edge of the lobe peeks out like a fin from under the water.

Photo: Liz Gregg / Moodboard / Globallookpress.com

The day she died is also vaguely remembered. I seem to remember how dad is sitting in a white bedroom, covering his face with his hands, strange muffled sounds are heard from behind the palms, the room smells of pollen and wet leaves. Maybe I invented these memories for myself, under the pressure of necessity and “iron will”?

What I remember exactly is looking at that place by the barn where her Plymouth always stood, and there was nothing there, only a puddle of engine oil. I still remember, for a few days, until my dad rearranged his schedule, a neighbor, a beautiful girl in jeans, with short, bright red hair, would pick me up from the kindergarten. She smelled of soap, and when she drove up to the house, she did not immediately get out of the car, but for some time she sat clutching the steering wheel and whispered something barely audibly – as if asking for forgiveness, but she was not addressing me, but garage door. Then she lit a cigarette and then sat silently, watching the smoke curl around the rear-view mirror.

I also remember that our house, usually squeaky and hoarse, like an old aunt suffering from rheumatism, without my mother, everything seemed to be crept up – waiting for her to return and it would be possible to relax and creak again, as much as one would like, grimacing with the floorboards from our hurried steps, slamming the front door exactly two and a quarter times, hiccuping the cornices when an ill-mannered breeze rushes in through the window. Without a mother, the house stubbornly refused to complain about life. Before my dad and I left for Oxford in 1993, he carefully put on a decent face, like at the tedious sermon of the Reverend Monty Howard at the New Presbyterian Church, where my dad drove me early every Sunday morning, while he waited in the parking lot at McDonald’s across the street – ate hash browns and read the New Republic.

With all the fragmentary reminiscences, the reader can imagine that the date September 17, 1992 involuntarily comes to mind when, for example, a teacher, having forgotten your name, calls you Zelenka. I thought back to September 17 at Po Richards Primary School, when I would hide in the darkest corner behind the shelves in the library, munching sandwiches brought from home and reading War and Peace (Leo Tolstoy, written 1865–1869) or when we papa was driving down the highway at night, papa kept a stern silence and his profile was like a mask carved on a totem pole. I looked out the window, at the lacy silhouettes of trees flying by, and suffered from another bout of a disease called “what if …”. What if dad didn’t think of suddenly coming for me and she would pick me up from kindergarten and, knowing that I was sitting in the back seat, would try very hard not to fall asleep? Roll down the window so the wind blows through her blond hair (revealing her entire right ear), sings her favorite song, The Beatles’ Revolution, at the top of her lungs? Or what if she didn’t sleep at all? What if she deliberately turned right onto the fence at a speed of one hundred and twenty kilometers per hour, broke through the metal bars and crashed into a wall of poplar trees nine meters before the turn?

Dad didn’t like to talk about it.

– Drop these thoughts! In the morning, my mother enthusiastically told me that she wanted to enroll in an evening course – “Introduction to the Moths of North America.” She just overdid it with her night vigils. Lunar madness, like moths,” he added quietly, looking at the floor.

Then he looked at me with a smile, standing in the doorway, but the look was heavy, as if an effort was required to hold it.

“Enough of that,” said Dad.

Translated by Maya Lahuti

Oxford, Mississippi – frwiki.wiki

For articles of the same name, see Oxford (disambiguation).

City of Oxford is the county seat of Lafayette County, Mississippi, USA. The population is currently around 28,122, increasing due to the recent annexation of five square miles of Lafayette County in all directions. Oxford is the seat of the University of Mississippi, founded in 1848, also known as Ole Miss .

Oxford was named by USA Today one of the top six university cities in the country and is in the 100 Best Small Cities in America . Lafayette County consistently has one of the lowest unemployment rates in the state.

Summary

  • 1 story
  • 2 Geography
  • 3 Demographics
  • 4 noble citizens
  • 5 links
  • 6 External links

History

During the civil rights movement, Oxford caught the attention of American public opinion when, in 1962, representatives from the state of Mississippi tried to prevent James Meredith, an African American, from attending a state university after federal court approval.

After negotiations with Governor Ross Barnett, President John F. Kennedy ordered the US Marshals to secure Meredith’s protection so that he could safely register at the university.

Thousands of armed “volunteers” swept through Oxford to prevent this recognition.

As a result, riots broke out late on Sunday evening. , between segregationists and the police.

Cars were set on fire, stones and bricks were fired at federal agents, university property was damaged, small arms fire was fired, killing two men, a French journalist sent to cover the events, and a resident of Lafayette County, the victims of stray bullets.

Unrest spread to the surrounding area of ​​the city of Oxford, but order was restored on campus with the early morning arrival of an element of the Mississippi National Guard and US Army regulars who camped in the city.

James Meredith was finally able to go to college. and graduated from the same university at . He remained under military protection until the end of his studies.

9009one
Geography

Oxford is located in the north of the state approximately 100 km east of the banks of the Mississippi River. Memphis and Tennessee are approximately 150 km to the northwest.

According to the US Census Bureau, the city has a total area of ​​25.8 km 2 (10.0 mi 2 ), of which only 0.1% is water.

The ground is uneven in places, but generally level.

Demography

At the 2000 census, there were 11,756 people, 5,327 households and 2,109 families living in the city. The population density is 455.3 buildings per square kilometer. The township contains 6,137 buildings with an average density of 237.7 buildings per square kilometer (615. 5 per square kilometer). Racially, the city’s population was 75.0% White, 20.9% African American, 0.1% Native American, 2.7% Asian, 0.02% Pacific Islander, 0.4% other races, and 0. 9% two or more races. . Hispanics or Latinos of any race were 1.0% of the population.

Notable Citizens

Rowan Oak, Faulkner House

  • William Faulkner considered Oxford his hometown (though born nearby in New Albany) after his family moved there when he was three years old. Oxford is the model for the city of “Jefferson” in his fiction, and he used the county of Lafayette as a model for his fictional county of Yoknapatofa. Recently renovated by the University of Mississippi, his former home, Rowan Oak, is a favorite Oxford landmark. Several members of Faulkner’s family still reside in the city and Lafayette County.
  • John Grisham also has a house in Oxford. He received his Juris Doctor from the University of Mississippi in 1981 and worked as a lawyer in Southaven, Mississippi for ten years before entering full-time employment. He returned to Oxford with his family in the early 1990s, but his primary residence today is Charlottesville, Virginia.
  • Michael Farris Smith, novelist, Hands of Strangers (2001), Endless Rain (2013), Nowhere on Earth (2016), Land of the Forgotten (2018)
  • Bass Drum of Death

Recommendations

  1. ↑ “ http://www.biography.com/search/article.do?id=9406314 ” (Archive • Wikiwix • Archive.is • Google • What to do?)
  2. ↑ “ Fighter ” by Michael Farris Smith (accessed June 23, 2020) .

External links

  • Authority records :

    • Virtual international authority file
    • Library of Congress
    • Gemeinsame Normdatei
    • Czech National Library
    • World Cat Id
    • WorldCat
  • Geography Resource :
    • Geographic Names Information System
  • (en) Official website

93 county towns of Mississippi

Aberdeen Ackerman Ashland Batesville Bay Springs Bay St.