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Showing posts with label Child Care Insights and Issues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Child Care Insights and Issues. Show all posts
Finally. My daughter has indicated her interest in potty training, which, according to my pediatrician, is our green light to put her in underpants. I discussed it with her preschool teachers and they seem more than ready for the challenge. They told me that they trained 10 kids in one week a few months ago. I was delighted to hear that; if they could do 10 in one week, they could probably do my one in a day (can’t hurt to dream)! So this morning, we took our first ride to school with my daughter in her panties, and wouldn’t you know it, we got stuck in a major traffic jam. We were stalled for about two minutes, when I heard the words I was dreading from the back seat, “momma, I need to go poop.” There was no turning around, and no way to get out of the traffic line. So I tried to cajole, to reason, to guide, and to bribe my daughter to wait until we got to school. And it worked! We ran into school where I deposited my daughter, four extra changes of clothes, and six pairs of panties. And I have to admit, this is one day when I am glad she’s in child care. I can’t wait to see how much progress she makes during the day…I hope it’s enough so that our ride home is stress…and mess…free.
Like most moms, I believe I have an incredible daughter but have found juggling motherhood and working full-time to be very challenging. With my chatty 15 month old and a career I love, it’s hard to find a balance. I recently stopped breastfeeding so I’ve decided to commemorate by sharing my most memorable moment. You may think it would be the time a male VP said hello to me in the hall while I held my pump parts, or maybe you’d think it was the time someone asked me what I was having for lunch when I pulled a steam bag filled with pump parts out of the microwave. Sadly neither of those stories top as my most memorable… I had an offsite meeting at a hotel and planned to sneak out midday to pump in a coworkers hotel room. However, when I arrived at her room I couldn’t get the key to work. Determined not to interrupt my male boss’s presentation and ask her for help, I opted to turn to the front desk. Unfortunately, it was strict hotel policy not to share room information even though I gave the male clerk the room key, the guests name, and what I believed was the room number. Putting aside my dignity, I explained to the man that I needed a place to pump. He didn’t know how to handle my request so he explained he would get the manager, who, as it turns out, was also a man. After explaining that I simply needed a room to pump, he proceeded to tell me in his gentle Irish accent that he really couldn’t help me out. Horrified, I asked if he expected me to pump in the lobby or even in my car in the parking lot. He didn’t seem to like either idea and so like a bright light going off, escorted me to a conference room. Once in the room with large windows, I looked at the doors and said “these doors don’t lock.” He looked at me as if I had just made an odd comment and said “no, they don’t.” I calmly explained that I needed a room with doors that locked. He said “Oh, well I don’t think we have anything like that.” In a hotel full of locked rooms, I decided I needed to be blunt, “I’m not sure if you understand, as I said, I’m going to be pumping… with my shirt off.” “Ohhhh”, he said, “well, I do have one more option, it is a small room but should work.” As I breathed a sigh of relief, I followed him out of the conference room and…into a closet. Ironically, it only locked from the outside, so I found myself barricading the doors with boxes filled with staff uniforms. I sat on a round stool with wheels which reminded me of the one in my grade school library. My heart rate raced the whole time just waiting for someone to open the door. I sat there wondering why my request seemed like such a difficult one in a hotel and peered in the corners fearing a camera was somewhere in the closet. That night, as I recapped the story to my husband, his response was “It’s funny, I actually saw the video on You Tube earlier today.” Ironically, I didn’t find that too funny.
I read this article on Washington Post.com by a stay-at-home Dad blogger wondering how to define “sick” . Is a baby who throws up once, but has no fever and is otherwise in good spirits, too sick to go to child care? As the mom of a child with a very easy propensity to throw up — the GI specialist said the mere act of pulling herself up to stand could cause my daughter to throw up because of the pressure it causes on the abdominal muscles — I’ve wondered the same thing a lot lately. NewGirl was sent home “sick” several weeks ago after she threw up at the center, but she was her happy, pleasant, and cheerful self once we got home. I’ve missed a lot of work this winter as NewGirl — along with her Dad — has had one illness after another. I was so frustrated to be forced into yet another day off, and this time I just didn’t feel she needed to be home.
It left me wondering if I needed to talk with the child care center director about just what it takes to send home a “sick child.” I actually had that meeting scheduled, when NewGirl came down with a certifiable stomach bug — an entire week of throwing up, diaper changes, and often clothing changes several times an hour, and endless desperate attempts to get her to drink even just a little Pedialyte®. As each day passed, I crossed my fingers that she’d keep food down and be ready to go to school the next day. And then, just as it seemed she was ready, she lost her lunch in the produce aisle at the grocery store, followed the next day by an accident in the car. I’ve got some new empathy for those teachers trying to decide who’s well enough to stay at school and who isn’t. I don’t think I’ll reschedule my meeting.
I got the best gift in the whole world yesterday. CommuterDad picked up CommuterGirl from child care (no, that wasn’t the gift) and they presented me with an original work of art. I’d like to call it modern art by CommuterGirl. Written on top of the creative combination of purple, red, and green was a quote from CommuterGirl. “This is for my Mommy. I love her SO much.” Good thing CommuterGirl can’t drive, I’d probably buy her a car right now if she asked for it. I love being a Mommy. P.S. Thank you to CommuterGirl’s teachers for writing it down and making my day…no, week…OK, month.
Who would have thought I’d be able to tell what kind of day my daughter has had in child care in two seconds flat just by looking through the window? It has nothing to do with smiles or tears, shouts or laughter. She’ll have plenty of all of those on good days and bad ones. No — for my reflux-prone baby, it’s all about the clothes. On the rare occasion she’s in the same outfit at the end of the day that she was when I dropped her off, I consider it an unmitigated success. I know it sounds lame, but it really makes a difference. I’ve seen the mom of another spitter in the class with the same gleeful grin when she greets her son on the days he’s still sporting his morning wardrobe. I’ve been so excited to see the season’s worth of class pictures they post on Snapfish, only to be a little crestfallen because NewGirl is wearing a protective bib in almost every one of them. Of course, I’ve endured my share of spit-upon clothes myself. It never fails, of course, that NewGirl shares her spit-up with me just as I give her that one last kiss — just as I’ve let down my guard, and I’ve run clear out of time to do anything about it before my first meeting of the day. Just today, a friend suggested I try Burp Armor. They’re heavy duty burp clothes designed by a Dad. They seem a little pricey, but if they save on my dry cleaning bills, it may be worth it. Plus, their Web site says they give 5 percent of thier sales to Children’s Hospital Boston. That’s definitely a cause I can support.
It seems some clarity is needed. With the gift-buying (and for some, the gift-giving) season well underway, I’ve been thinking about which of my children’s myriad of caregivers should be on my list. And apparently I’m not the only one mulling this over, because yesterday three colleagues whose kids are in child care for the first time asked me what is appropriate. Primary teachers are obvious as are, in my opinion, others who spend significant time in the classroom. But what about the center director and assistant director? The program coordinator? And if you cast the net that wide, do you risk offending someone by leaving her out? And then there’s my kindergartener to consider. As the first time parent of a school-ager, I have no idea what’s expected. The classroom aide? The room mother? The lunch ladies? The bus driver? This list could get very long very quickly. The question isn’t only who, but also what? I have a relationship with my toddler’s caregivers. I see them at drop off and pick up, we communicate almost daily by telephone, and we write in a shared journal. I know a bit about them and have a sense of the kind of gift they might enjoy. That’s not the case with my kindergartner’s community. I don’t know what they’d like or how much to spend. Frankly, the whole thing is more than a bit overwhelming. So if you have any ideas, please let me know. I, and the teachers and lunch ladies and bus driver, thank you in advance.
We had our first snowfall of the season. We got a little bit of snow last month, but this is the first one that required plows. CommuterGirl spent about 30 minutes watching them plow the snow in our neighborhood this morning. She had a great time teaching her babydoll all about the big truck. She kept whispering in her ear, “Look, Baby, big truck. Watch, big truck.” I had a great time getting an extra 30 minutes-worth of stuff done all by myself this morning! I’m looking forward to building a snowman with CommuterGirl, making snow angels, helping her throw snowballs for the dog. I’m not looking forward to the extra stuff that has to go to school. Monday mornings are enough of a challenge as it is. We have to remember her lunch, her blanket, her sheet for her nap mat, her bear that she has to have to fall asleep, her hat, her mittens and a change of clothes. Now we have to add her snowsuit and her boots. Is it frivolous to buy an extra snowsuit and an extra pair of boots to leave at school? I think I’ll go to the consignment store this weekend and see what I can find…
Drop-off today was a bit crazier than usual. I was running late and my daughter was especially clingy. She clutched me with all four limbs while I tried to gently remove her coat, put her lunch away, fill out her daily sheet, and make my way out of the room. In the middle of all this, her beloved teacher dropped a small bombshell: they’ve decided to transition my daughter from the toddler room to the preschool room a bit early. I froze in my tracks. Preschool? With the big kids? Surely they must be mistaken. After all, she’s barely putting two words together, and she doesn’t turn 3 for several months. (In fact, she’s 2 years and 8 months so “a bit early” is just that…one month early.) My initial response was completely heartfelt and wholly irrational. I asked the teacher if she planned to transition along with my daughter. She reminded me that it doesn’t work that way. Then I asked about my daughter’s two best friends and was told that they’re several months younger so they won’t be transitioning for some time. My husband says the transition will be a good thing; she’s been in the same room for a long time and the move might encourage her vocabulary development. She’ll be challenged by being around older kids and exposed to new people and different activities. He says she’s ready, and maybe he’s right. I, on the other hand, could stand another few months in the comfy, cozy, safe toddler room. In the end, of course, this has nothing to do with my comfort zone and it’s probably a good thing…otherwise I can only imagine the struggle she’ll face when she’s ready to head off to college.
I just read this on The Washington Post’s On Balance Blog and I just can’t get it out of my mind. The author writes about the ability of herself and a former colleague to stay connected to and supportive of each other despite the fact the one chose to become a stay at home Mom while the other returned to work with the support of child care. That’s wonderful. I have lots of other friends who have lost touch when one decided to leave the workforce after having a child, so it’s really nice they were able to overcome that difference and to be supportive and respectful of the other’s choice.
But the author, who is the Working Mom in this case, talks about working motherhood in some of the most offensive terms. I won’t go into detail about her use of the term full-time Mom to describe stay at home Moms – Modern Mom did that very eloquently already. But her reference to the fact that someone else is "raising your child" because they're in child care strikes me as naïve and truly unfortunate if, as a parent with children in child care, you truly feel that way.
I know my world will turn inside out and upside down when NewGirl is here and starts child care. I’m sure it will be hard on her and on me. But I can’t help but feel, now at least, that choosing child care is one of the decisions I will make in raising MY OWN child. I hope that NewGirl’s teachers will love my child. I hope they will serve as a resource for me as a novice parent. I hope they will be able to give me insight into her development and growth. But I don’t expect them to raise her – to build her foundation of morals and values, to make decisions about her future, to teach her about her heritage, religion and family background, or to establish the simple traditions that will make us our own special family.
I suppose my feelings on this are really just speculation until I go through it all myself, but what do those of you who already have your children in child care think? Do you feel like someone else is “raising your child?”
My son woke up with a cough today. You know what that means…mass panic and mild hysteria as my husband and I tried to assess how serious the symptoms were, whether he really needed to stay home, which one of us had a busier workday, whether the ear thermometer was accurate, and which one of the four thermometer readings we should believe. By all accounts, his temperature was under the 100 degree cut off, so we decided to bundle him up and bring him to school.
I spent the entire commute feeling horribly guilty and like a terrible mother. Shouldn’t I have stayed home so he could rest on the couch while I cooked chicken soup? And if I’d stayed home might we have prevented an even worse cough or cold from developing? Was my daughter going to catch it?
Well, by the time I found a parking space, booted up my computer, and grabbed my first cup of caffeine, the child care center called to say I should come get my son. “He’s not feeling well,” they said. “He really needs to be home.” Two hours later he was planted firmly on the couch while I was in the kitchen heating up some Campbells.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what it is going to be like for NewMom the first day she takes NewGirl to school. I’ll never forget how small CommuterGirl looked when we went for our first visit. We had planned to visit together; but the infants were going on a walk so I sent her along while I stayed behind and finished the enrollment paperwork. Well, that was the idea — instead I sat on one of the little chairs in her new classroom and cried.
CommuterGirl was almost 4 months old and I was convinced that her first day at school without me would be a disaster…she was a breastfed baby and wouldn’t take a bottle very well; we had stopped having my mother babysit since the majority of the 2 hours would be spent with CommuterGirl screaming louder than we could imagine until she was back in mommy’s arms. She even screamed when I left the room while she was with Daddy.
On the first day of school CommuterDad “just happened to be at home” (yes, I have a great husband who knew I’d need a shoulder to cry on), so we dropped her off together and went out for lunch and ran some errands. Four hours later we went back to school to find a happy little girl who hadn’t cried once, drank a whole bottle, and had a “great time,” according to her teachers. That was the beginning of CommuterGirl proving me wrong.
The other day I got an e-mail that a respected colleague was leaving the company to be a “full-time mom.” The same day, I read an article stating that both Kate Winslet and Gwen Stefani have put their careers on hold to be “full-time mothers.”
For those of us who work outside of the home, it’s impossible to ignore the implication — if moms who stay home are “full-time mothers,” we must be “part-time mothers.” Funny, I didn’t feel like a part-time mother at 3 a.m. yesterday when I was trying – unsuccessfully – to get my 1 ½ -year-old daughter back to sleep. And I didn’t feel like a part-time mother at 4:30 a.m. when my 4-year-old snuck into my bedroom to ask if it was okay to sleep on the floor. There was nothing part-time about getting two kids woken up (more or less), dressed, fed, somewhat clean, loaded into the car, and dropped off at school in time to be at my desk by 8:00. And during the workday there are inevitably doctors appointments to make, calls to check in at school, and various other “mommy details” that need attention.
The time, energy, and resources I devote to my children far outweigh any other aspect of my life. Whether or not I’m physically with them around the clock, I am always their mother…all of the time, full time.
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