Day Care Drama

I've been getting a ton of support from family and friends recently, after explaining the drama we've been going through with the day care facility where I've been sending Sadie since June. Since this has been a fairly big issue for me, and is becoming bigger by the day, I thought I'd explain a little bit here what my complaints about this place are and why I'm torn over what to do.

In May, when my workload began to increase to the point where I needed at least a few days a week to devote to it, I began researching in-home day care facilities in my neighborhood. I visited several places and finally it came down  to two: a very sweet Armenian woman who cares for between 4-5 babies and toddlers, and a slightly larger in-home day care run by a woman who employs a full time and a part time assistant to help her manage as many as 12 kids.

I liked the second day care better. For the sake of the story, let's call it Happy Star Day Care. Happy Star seemed to run like a well-oiled machine, the house was clean, bright and neat, and the environment was loud but happy. They had "dance time" and organized play time. It was also significantly more expensive ($250 per week was what the owner quoted me) than the woman who just worked by herself. We just couldn't justify the expense.

When I called the woman at Happy Star to explain we wouldn't be sending Sadie there, she came down on the price immediately, finally (albeit reluctantly) matching it to what the other woman had quoted me. With the last obstacle now out of the way, I was happy to tell her Sadie would be starting immediately. What began as part time quickly turned into full-time care, as my workload increased even more, and soon it was arranged that Sadie would be attending Happy Star every weekday.

There were the initial hurdles to jump in order to get Sadie acclimated -- we had to figure out a system for making her feel comfortable, finally culminating in me having to lug her bouncer seat with me each day, along with her special napping blanket (it's white and fleecy with a satin border; she rubs her nose against it when she's tired). Oh, and it was understood I had to provide her meals, too. Unlike the other day care owner, who explained that she cooked Armenian food for her kids every day, it was up to me to pack a lunch, a spoon, a bib, etc. five days a week.

Of course, all of this was perfectly fine with me. And I was also okay with Happy Star's very, very long list of policies: don't bring your child in if she seems sick, we're closed for a week during summer and a week during the holiday season, drop her off in the back but pick her up in the front -- but only between 3 and 4:30pm, after that pick her up in the back again, call on a cell phone instead of knocking on the front door so they can bring her out to meet me, etc. etc. etc.

And I was okay with paying the last two weeks' worth of tuition upfront, along with the first two weeks, so that it was a significant chunk of change just to get her in the front door.

Aaaaand, I guess I was okay with their somewhat bizarre payment policy, which was this: cash only, you create a receipt recording the payment, which they then sign. This meant I'd have to go to the bank every 2 weeks and withdraw a large amount of money, which made me a little nervous, and I still don't understand exactly why it's so difficult for them to take a check. But at this point I was still just thrilled that they'd met my terms and that Sadie was going to a great day care.

And the thing is, it IS a very good day care. The kids are clearly happy there -- I've never approached to hear anyone throwing a tantrum, fussing or fighting. The women who work there adore the kids, showering them with love and affection. Sadie is generally happy to be there.

The problem is...well, what is the problem really? If I had to boil it down, I'd say that in order to make Sadie happy, Happy Star has continually expected me to sacrifice my time, convenience, ability to manage my workload, and my good humor.

The first real issue that cropped up -- infamous now among friends and family who have heard me gripe about it a million times -- was the Happy Star owner's repeated habit of pulling me outside when I came each afternoon so she could tell me what was wrong with Sadie.

First it was that she wasn't trying to crawl, as all babies her age should.

Then it was that she tended to look right more than left, which could mean her neck muscles were developing improperly.

Then she wanted me to know that if Sadie's pediatrician didn't agree with her that the crawling thing was an issue, I should probably switch doctors.

More than this, the thing that really started getting to me was the manner in which the owner of Happy Star was delivering these various bits of troublesome news. There's no way to explain this without sounding ultra-sensitive, but she has a way of speaking that sounds decidedly accusatory. Rather than, "Sadie was sleepy today and took an extra long nap," it's, "Sadie was sleepy today!" followed by a piercing look and silence, until I rush to fill the void with excuses. "Well, she didn't sleep very well last night...and I think she might be teething...but I'm sure she's okay..."

Then there was the foot-scrape episode. Sadie began returning home from day care with a raw spot on each ankle, which would eventually scab over, then it would happen again. I asked the owner about it: "Have you noticed anything she might be doing that would give her these scrapes?" My question was answered with a blank look and a head shake. "Well, would you keep an eye on her to see if there's something happening?" More blank looks. Then her response was, "Maybe at home she's trying to crawl."

In other words: whatever's happening with her, it's probably your fault.

Eventually the ankle mystery was solved. It was Scott who noticed that when Sadie sits, she absently rubs her leg back and forth across the carpet and in doing so rubs her ankle raw. She was probably doing this both at day care and at home -- but it still rankles that this woman couldn't even conceive that Sadie might possibly have gotten an injury while under her care.

Anyway -- this is becoming a very long post, so I'll jump ahead. Scott and I talked about it a lot, debating the pros versus the cons of Sadie attending Happy Star. The conclusion I finally reached was that if she's happy there, then it's worth putting up with someone who's social skills are less than ideal. We agreed that from now on, if she pointed out things wrong with my baby or my parenting style, I'd nod politely and then ignore her advice. And as long as Sadie continued to love Happy Star, there was no real reason to take her out and begin the search all over again.

And then, last week happened.

I brought Sadie back to Happy Star following our trip up to Washington, and it became clear she was having problems adjusting. The owner reported to me each day that Sadie was crying a lot and missed me. "When she cries, she upsets the other kids," she told me, in that way of hers which gives me the uncontrollable urge to drown her in a sea of excuses on behalf of my baby.

"I think she's teething," the owner said to me on Monday.

"Oh yes, probably teething."

I took her home.

"I think she's getting sick," she told me when she handed Sadie over to me on Tuesday afternoon.

"Oh no! I'll keep an eye on her tonight and tomorrow morning."

On Wednesday, I saw no signs of sickness, so I took her back. "Call me if it seems like she's really not well," I said, then left to tackle a long day's worth of work.

At 11am, I got the call. "Sadie's upset. She misses you. I think you should come get her."

And so I did. And Sadie, if she WAS upset, became fine the minute I got her home. We spent a pleasant afternoon playing. A day during which I did not get any work done. A day after which I had to pull a late-nighter to do the work I hadn't gotten done during the day.

At some point during that long night, I thought to myself, "Isn't the reason I'm paying them so they can deal with her regardless of whether she's happy or fussy?"

On Thursday, I brought her back again. She didn't want to go, clutching my arm tightly and crying for a minute when I handed her over. I felt terrible, but this time I had to say firmly, "I can't come early today. I'll lose this job. I'll pick her up at 3." Then, naturally, I spent all day worrying and feeling like a bad mother.

This time when I picked her up she seemed fine, but I was also sent home with a new list of instructions: you need to start packing finger food; she doesn't like spoons anymore. You need to bring the bouncer seat every day again. You need to speak to her using the same language we do, so she starts listening to us better. You need to begin doing activities with her like we do, so that she likes doing them better with us.

"Play with her. Listen to music with her. Dance with her."

I do, I do, and I do.

What she's telling me, in essence, is that the same activities I do each day with Sadie, that I have no trouble with, are now making her unhappy at day care. And somehow, according to the owner of Happy Star, this is my fault.

I think I'm just about done.

On Friday afternoon, after I'd handed over my giant enveloped stuffed with twenties and was about to drive away with my baby, the owner chased me down and knocked on the window of the car.

"I counted twice, and you're $20 short," she informed me, handing me back the envelope.

I counted it again, while she demurely turned her head away. It came up right on target. I handed back the money and told her so.

She shrugged. "I'm sure it's fine. I counted it twice. Probably the bills were stuck together." She looked at me for a moment before returning inside and even then, even in that moment when I knew completely, utterly and without a doubt that I was right, I still felt as if she were waiting for me to come up with an excuse that would justify the problem. ("I'm so sorry. The bank gave me new bills and they aren't as easy to count as older ones.")  

If Sadie's the baby in the equation, then how is it that taking her to day care makes me feel like the child?

 

Back We Go

Someday, when Sadie is older, I'll tell her about how when she was eleven months old, we despaired of her ever learning how to get around on her own.

HER: So I never learned how to crawl?

ME: Well, you could sort of crawl...backwards.

HER: Whatever, Mom, you're totally making that up.

ME: Oh yeah? I HAVE PROOF.

Sadie crawls backward

Full Steam Ahead

My lack of updating is for actual good, valid reasons -- I'm working a lot these days, and it's keeping me incredibly busy, which is great for things like paying the mortgage but not good for logging important milestones in my child's life.

When Sadie was first born, my sister gave me a beautiful baby book. It was filled with pages that said things like, "On the day I was born, here were the top headlines in the newspaper!" and I always mean to go back and Google September 24th, 2009 and then write down all the important news stories, but then I realize I forgot to go to the market and Pepper's going crazy at my feet because she needs to be walked and I need to cook up a batch of baby food because we're down to nothing but three cubes of Wheaty Meaty Stew and instant oatmeal. And then I rationalize that Sadie, if she's interested in such a thing when she grows up, will also have the power of the internet at her fingertips, so really, it's not necessary for me to write it down and....aaaanyway, long story short, I was bad at filling in the baby book and I'm bad at posting updates.

These days are going by so fast, I'm just trying to stop every once in awhile to remind myself that my baby is becoming less of a baby and more of a kid. At last night's anniversary dinner for my grandparents' 50th, my mother looked at Sadie and said, "You can see...she's really becoming more of a little girl." And I was like, "Heh, yeah, that's what a grandmother would say," but then I did a double-take and when I looked for the second time, I could see: yes, she IS becoming a little girl. The baby features are already starting to go -- her cheeks no longer look like she's hoarding golf balls, her hands aren't as fat and dimpled, her hair has grown out.

Last week, Scott and I took her up to Seattle and Vachon Island for a vacation. And by "vacation," I mean that Scott got to listen to me bitch about how vacations are supposed to be relaxing while this was no such thing, and for that I'm sorry, honey.  But really -- I was rushing to meet work deadlines up to the night that we left, packing was a frenzy, in the middle of it we had to go return my leased Volvo to the dealership, and all that was before we even left. Once we arrived in Washington we contended with rain, many hours of travel, and a baby who went through one of the worst teething phases of her life to date. She actually went on a food strike for four straight days, refusing to consume anything but bottles and occasionally some yogurt, and let me tell you, a teething, hungry baby whose gums hurt too much to eat and who is also in an unfamiliar environment, constantly being thrust into the arms of people she doesn't know or  forced to sit in a carseat for hours on end, is NOT a happy baby.

So it was a bit stressful, but I'm also making it sound a lot worse than it was. We stayed in a hundred year old inn on gorgeous Vashon, our quarters adjoining the establishment's well-respected restaurant. That meant live music and conversation being piped into our rooms every evening, which I loved. Scott's sister stayed with us, holding out the fort at night, allowing us to attend our friends' wedding (the reason we were in Washington to begin with) baby-free and to feel privately smug towards all the people who'd brought their kids with them for a nighttime wedding.

From Vachon we took the ferry across the Sound to Seattle, where we stayed with my aunt, uncle and niece. They're incredibly cool about houseguests, making us feel welcome the entire time. Even so, I felt bad walking in the door with a crying, drooling, hunger-striking infant. "We swear she's usually not like this!" has become our constant cry every time Sadie goes through a teething period. All things considered, the plane flights to and from Seattle were remarkably unremarkable. Minimal fussing, she napped briefly both times, and all I can say is, thank heaven for the emergency instruction card because it kept her entertained for most of the flight.

Now that the teething has passed, Sadie's gone back to her usual happy self. Today I took her over to my parents' and she was the happiest baby you've ever seen, giggling at all of us and showering us with kisses. And why wouldn't she be happy? She's got all the love she can handle, from aunts and uncles to grandparents and great-grandparents -- all within the span of a few days. If this keeps up, she's going to start getting a big head.

Three Generations

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Originally uploaded by dotalbon

Last night, we went to my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary dinner. It was an incredible event, marked by lots of laughing and hugging, moving toasts, creme brulee, and the unforgettable image of my grandparents taking the dance floor and sashaying across the room in perfect unison while everyone watched in sheer awe, including the pianist.

This is a photo from the dinner of me, Sadie, my sister and my mother.

Looking at this picture will tell you several things:

1. My family likes to wear black.

2. You can never possess too many glasses of wine.

3. Sadie is getting really, really big. This is an 18-month size dress.