DotMoms

Another kind of day-care dilemma

By Anne-Marie

I decided that if I was to be serious about freelance writing, I needed some time alone without my children. I wanted large blocks of time and some peace and quiet to write seriously. Nap times were too short and I was often too exhausted at night to write. I could manage it somewhat, but wanted to devote some serious time to my craft.

A new day-care center opened near our home last spring, so I enrolled Nathan and Lucie for one full day a week. Even though I was impressed with the facility and its caregivers, and liked how they structured the children's days, I felt guilty about putting them there. After all, couldn't I just manage to write here and there as I did before? Wasn't being with the kids more important than writing?

As the day approached, I started justifying my decision. I told myself it was easier and cheaper than a summer camp for Nathan. I thought it would be good for him to continue socializing with kids his age and other adults in a preschool-like setting. I figured he'd be fine once he got used to it, especially since he did so well during his first year of preschool.

I felt guiltier about Lucie. At nearly 15 months, she was still a total mama's girl and did not like being away from me. I wondered how she would get along with other children and different caregivers. I calmed my fears by telling myself that she was a social child and had recently done well with a babysitter.

Finally, I shut up my inner critic by telling myself that I had been doing this mothering gig for nearly 4 and a half years and desperately needed a break. I needed time to recharge my batteries and to devote some time to personal goals. Still, I had anxiety dreams for several nights before day care started.

I am happy to report that our first day at day-care was successful. I dropped the kids off without any crying or clinginess. When I came to pick them up, Nathan was excited to tell me about his day. He thanked me for school, as we call it, and told me he could not wait for next week. Lucie was happy to see me, even though she was ravenous and tired. Both kids were singing new songs, and Lucie seemed to have grown up a little as she was more verbal than usual with her demands for cookies, cheese, banana, and a bottle. I think the kids may have even missed each other as they spent dinnertime roaring in each other's faces and laughing.

So what did I do on my first day without the kids? I got a pedicure, went grocery shopping, and then deep cleaned the house for six hours. So much for writing. But now, there is always next week.

Daycare duty

By Lori

We had a conflict with our day-care provider yesterday. I won't air the dirty laundry here; I'll just give you a peek into the hamper -- it was a scheduling problem, one I thought we'd resolved before the day even began. Alas, we hadn't, and said provider and Adam had an uncomfortable confrontation. Or rather, a non-confrontation, as Adam was just brusque with her and she called me minutes after, nearly in tears.

Hours of discussion later, we've just shed light on the real problem: She's not me.

Someone else takes care of Emma for five hours a day, four days a week. Twenty hours a week, she's not in my care. And as much as I know that we're lucky that it's 20 hours and not 50 or 60, and we're blessed to have her in nearly one-on-one care with someone who honestly loves her, there's still one big thing. She's just not me.

I know she probably disagrees with some of our parenting ideas. Em's been staying with her for 18 months now, and we've often had to talk about how much TV we consider acceptable, how many sweets Em should have a day, why it's important to us that she's always on time or near it. Adam and I have the 20-hours-a-week thing down, but it's an incredibly fine balance that has each of us using two lunch hours a week to pick Emma up and get her down for a nap. I'm at home one full day each week with her; Adam has her with him in the afternoons while he works. We've got it structured so it just fits with both of us able to do the jobs we get paid for.

So conversations like those yesterday make things really hard. I wanted to use it as an opportunity to express all of the tiny problems I have with Emma's care -- how we end up paying for her to take Emma grocery shopping and to visit friends, how we'd like her to do more structured activities, how it matters that she really eat the planned meals we send instead of a PB&J sandwich. But I knew once that door was opened, it couldn't be closed. We're really lucky to have the setup we have; I hate to rock the boat.

Adam and I both had to bear the brunt of it -- I took the initial call, and he called later to remind her of a scheduling issue today, using that as a chance to try to talk to her again. I think she expected me to be good cop when she called me, to apologize for Adam's behavior, but I didn't. He hadn't done anything wrong. When he called, I emphasized he shouldn't say he was sorry. We have a business relationship with her, and it's not too much to ask that we stick to an agreed-upon schedule. Their conversation quickly devolved, though, with her saying she felt like family and didn't think 15 minutes should matter.

But it does, when we only have 60 to devote to Emma at nap time and it often takes that full hour to get her down. And, truthfully, she's not family. We don't treat her like we would, say, our dentist or a electrician who came to repair something. We trust her with our child. That's a huge thing. But she's not a friend who takes Emma for the afternoon -- we pay for a service. A hugely personal one, but a service nonetheless.

And she's just not me. Emma is my full-time job, I just don't happen to be lucky enough to be with her full time. She's a job for the woman, too, only a paying one, with set guidelines and hours.

How do you strike the balance of employer/employee with a mutual love of your kid?

The Daycare dilemma

By Nancy

I have two children and I have been lucky enough to have had wonderful child care for both of them, in the form of nannys and centers. For the past five years, one or both of my children have attended a fantastic center that defies the usual problems that centers encounter.

It has a stable, experienced staff of caring teachers. It has low ratios and offers gymnastics, swimming lessons and music appreciation. It's an older facility. So it has large playgrounds and big classrooms ... good for exercise in the winter months when it's too cold to spend much time outdoors. For all of this they have received national recognition, grants and we pay a very high tuition.

The center has been owned by various companies over the years, some child care companies, some not. It was recently purchased by Knowlege Learning, the company that owns Leapfrog. They make great toys. But it looks like they're more interested in running McDaycare centers than delivering a high-quality child care experience that might be associated with their toy brand.

The company has instituted a new policy that decreases the child care credit given to employees who have children enrolled in the school. As a result, a teacher and curriculum coordinator with 14 years at the school, a college degree and a reputation for being a potty training wizard can't afford to work there any longer. She resigned last month.

Other long-term teachers are questioning what they will do when they get pregnant. I have registered my objections with the regional VP, COO and CEO of the company. I just paid a huge tuition increase. Where's the money going, if not to retain great teachers?

But I think the problem is larger than this corporation. I think it reflects a society that does not support working mothers. In America, high-quality child care is not accessible to the very people who provide it, and others who have chosen important fields that are less lucrative than some but make a very large contribution to our communities. Is it because most Americans believe that mothers should not work, even though most mothers do work outside the home? I hope this is something we can change before my daughters are mothers.