The gun goes off at 7:30 a.m. the day after Labor Day.

Frenzied parents jam phone lines to request nursery school applications—some manning four lines at one time—and there are schools that run out of applications by noon.

Winning your prodigy a spot in a top Manhattan nursery school is blood sport, as billionaires, millionaires, and the city’s biggest celebs—along with the rest of us—go for spots like sharks after chum. The process was never easy in the past, but it’s become even harder since the baby boom that came in the wake of 9/11. The only way to earn a place at a prized preschool—and the privilege of paying about $12,000 to $25,000 for a two-day-per-week program for your pre-K tot—is to tackle the admissions process wholeheartedly.

Some start the race before unsuspecting offspring can swallow whole food, sending their babies and toddlers to parenting programs and play groups that are deemed “feeders to the feeders,” many of which have up to one-year waiting lists. These pre-preschool programs, like Madison Playgroup, Free to Be Under Three at All Souls, Barnard Toddler Program, and the Parenting Center at Central Synagogue, help one- and two-year-olds learn to socialize, share, and play nicely so they can ace their nursery school interviews.

But, is it worth all the Sturm und Drang?

Do you have a phd in the abcs?
The qualitative differences between nurseries citywide lie not so much in their varying philosophies, but in what the top-tier schools have that all the others don’t.

All the “baby ivies” have the following things in common: directors with 20-plus years in early childhood education, fabulous facilities, students with famous parents, teachers with masters’ degrees, expertly thought-out programs, strong track records for sending their graduates to all the best public and private schools in town—and, of course, impossible admissions.

ATTACK OF THE KILLER
APPLICATION PROCESS
The key to getting into a tippy-top-tier nursery is having a balanced, well-thought-out list of schools to apply to (typically, no less than six and no more than 12 is a good number). The best lists include a few baby ivies, a few schools that are reasonable reaches, and a few more that are pretty much pay and go, known as “safeties.”

One ultrasuccessful, überzealous Upper East Side couple—attractive, articulate, creative people with a delicious two-year-old daughter—scored big this year, claiming two baby-ivy acceptances. The mother admits that even though the horrific ordeal took over her life—by December, she’d become completely unglued—she’d do it all over again. “It plays with your mind,” she says of the process. “It takes the most confident person and brings you to your knees; it’s so humbling. But you’ll do anything for your child.”

This competitive, competent mother, who has climbed up the corporate ladder, was completely blindsided. “You don’t think that a little nursery school admissions process could cause even a hiccup in your life,” she says. Yet she got so wrapped up in it that she wasn’t able to concentrate on big business deals at work. “It was an emotional roller coaster that was completely draining. My mind became consumed with writing letters, preparing for all kinds of interviews, and writing essays, all to get my daughter into the best possible school.”

The baby-ivy alumni network in New York City is as storied as its schools. Although no one actually lists their nursery school on their resume, the one you or your child attended comes up commonly over cocktails. Attendance at a hot nursery connotes social status and academic prowess—conveniently cloaked in the interest of doing what’s best for junior, of course.

HOW WAS I TO KNOW ASTROPHYSICS
WOULDN’T BE YOUR FORTE?
NOW FINISH YOUR HOMEWORK!
In addition to schools that offer only nursery programs, there are also those that start with nursery programs and go up to grades eight, nine, or 12. These “ongoing” schools—such as Horace Mann, Town School, and Trevor Day—maintain nursery divisions primarily as a service to their community, so most spots are taken by the children or siblings of students and alumni, further enhancing the feeling of family within the school and bolstering the bottom line in the Headmaster’s Circle.

The caveat in choosing a nursery program that’s part of an ongoing school is that one may prove too rigorous for your child down the road, while another may not be challenging enough. It’s hard to determine whether the school that’s right for your two-year-old will be the best fit for her all the way through middle and high school. Also, many early-childhood education experts agree that ongoing schools with nursery programs aren’t as strong as their nursery-only counterparts, as their focus can be diluted due to greater programming or capital agendas. Hence, roughly a dozen years ago, Dalton lopped off its nursery program and hasn’t looked back.

Today, private nurseries are sending their “graduates” on to a wider variety of ongoing schools, both public and private. You can check my book, The Manhattan Directory of Private Nursery Schools (Soho Press; $29), to get a good idea of where a particular nursery is sending its students for kindergarten (never ask while touring or interviewing). The more ongoing schools listed under the “graduates” category, the better; it means the nursery school director has forged relationships with admissions directors at more ongoing schools, thus increasing your odds at the next level, kindergarten.

“DO-IT-YOURSELF ROOT CANAL”
AND OTHER REALLY BAD IDEAS
If you haven’t the foggiest idea how to compose a solid list of schools, then it’s time to hire an advisor. Amanda Uhry, of Manhattan Private School Advisors, is convinced that clueless parents should get help—or the results could be disastrous.

“They’ll soon see it’s like trying to do their own root canal,” Uhry says. “It’s painful, and they won’t realize they did it wrong until it’s too late in the process to fix the mess.” For $8,000 to $10,000, her company offers unlimited meetings, phone calls, e-mails, and help writing application essays and “first choice letters.” All aspects of both parent and child interview-preparation are covered, and clients are provided with an analysis of each nursery school they’re interested in, including demographics, which schools its grads have moved on to for the past five years, a view of the school from every angle, and an opportunity to speak with parents of current students.

In an arena where there are typically no guarantees, Uhry makes a promise to panic-stricken parents: “If your child isn’t accepted the year we’re working with you, the next year is free. But,” she adds proudly, “it hasn’t happened once. Our record is 100 percent acceptance to all parents’ top three preschools since 2002.” (Other advisors tend to offer more flexible rates, roughly $400 to $4,000, depending on what’s needed.)

BITE ME AGAIN, SALLY, AND I’LL
KEEP YOUR KEISTER OUT OF
KINDERGARTEN, TOO
Is all this extra help overpriced? No way, say the advisors, who have to deal with so many type-A parents that they end up having a higher burnout rate than the nursery school directors and teachers themselves.

Karen Quinn, a former advisor, quit the business when one child she was coaching declared, “Stop! Can’t you see I’m only four?” Quinn then wrote the charming, satirical novel The Ivy Chronicles (Viking Adult; $23.95) based on her myriad over-the-top experiences.

Quinn always gave her clients 200 percent, she says, and while many met with resounding success, there were always some who just didn’t make the cut—and then, watch out. For example, occasionally a client’s child blew an interview. “This could be caused by anything from biting another child, to stealing a toy, to pooping in their Pampers, to entirely melting down in the presence of an admissions director,” Quinn says. And afterwards? “The result was usually multiple strategy sessions with parents that were insane. I mean, what do you do? If it was a bite, do you pretend it never happened? Explain that this was an errant bite? Try to justify the bite in some way by maligning the bitee?” Quinn and the parents would consider their options; and though Quinn knew the biter would never get into that school, she also knew it was best never to mention the fateful incident again.

One crazy client, sitting nearby while Quinn conducted a weekly prep session on colors, was informed that her son had passed out. “He had put his head down on my dining room table and fallen asleep,” says Quinn. “I told his mother, ‘You’d better take him home,’ but she just said, ‘Oh, no, keep talking, he’ll get it subliminally!’”

Other advisors find the grind of listening to stressed-out parents entirely too taxing and time-consuming. Nina Bauer, of top advisory firm Ivy Wise, announced her “retirement” this year after giving birth to her second child, and it’s up in the air whether she’ll return to the scene. Other advisors confess to “losing” cell phones, or traveling to places where there’s “no cell service” to get breaks from all the bitching and bellyaching.

BUT THEY’RE THE RICHEST KIDS IN PUBLIC SCHOOL, THERE’S SOMETHING TO BE SAID FOR THAT
Then there’s the worst nursery nightmare of all.

“L’Affaire Grubman-Weill,” as it’s known, occurred in 2002. Sandy Weill, a Citigroup kingpin, was also a board member of the 92nd Street Y (where he’d recently donated $1 million). One day he asked top stock analyst Jack Grubman to “take another look” at ATT, a stock that Citigroup was offering, but which had received a low rating that displeased Weill. The rating was changed, Citigroup sold tons of ATT, and—lo and behold—Grubman’s twins landed a pair of nursery school spots.

Then Attorney General Eliot Spitzer took a closer look—and didn’t like what he saw. Grubman got a permanent time-out (he was barred from the industry), fines flew, and the twins didn’t fare so well, either. In the next round of admissions, kindergarten, they ended up in public school, reportedly not the Grubmans’ first choice at the time.

DEAR MS. STERNBUTT, I SO ENJOYED THE GRAHAM CRACKERS AND FRUIT PUNCH YOU SERVED AT OUR LAST MEETING
Bottom line: You must be prepared not only to have a well-behaved, healthy, smart, good-looking child (no, sadly, that’s not enough), but also to ace application essays, tour endless schools, attend scores of open houses, endure interviews, write well-written, thoughtful thank-you notes, use connections (if you have them), and, after reviewing all the options (usually sometime in mid-February), write an outstanding “first choice letter” indicating your desire to enroll if accepted.

Then all you’ll need is a smile from the gods and the assets of the Rockefellers, and nursery school fortune will be yours.

A Is for “Alumni”
Who went where? Here’s the rundown of little celebrity graduates.

All Souls: The children of Caroline Kennedy Schlossberg, Cyndi Lauper, Sigourney Weaver, and Art Garfunkel.
Beginnings: The children of Susan Sarandon and Tim Robbins, and supermodel Paulina Porizkova and rocker Ric Ocasek.
Brick Church: The children of Princess Marie-Chantal of Greece, Katie Couric, Jane Pauley and Garry Trudeau, and many Wall Street titans.
Chelsea Day: The son of James Gandolfini.
episcopal: The children of author Tom Wolfe, Ron Perelman and Patricia Duff, Jerry Della Femina and Judy Licht, Jann and Jane Wenner, Perri Peltz and Eric Ruttenberg, and Harvey and Eve Weinstein.
92nd Street Y: The children of Phoebe Cates and Kevin Kline; Tracy Pollan and Michael J. Fox, The Preppy Handbook’s Lisa Birnbach, the Bronfmans, the Lauders, and the Tisches.
Washington Market: The daughter of TV’s favorite shrink, Lorraine Bracco, and her ex, Harvey Keitel, and at least one of Spike Lee’s kids.
West Side Montessori: The children of Kyra Sedgwick and Kevin Bacon, Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio, and former American Ballet Theater principal dancer Cheryl Yeager (who once headed the parents’ association).