Fair Care

During my 3:30 p.m. oh-crap-I-need-to-eat lunch break, I wolfed down my mediocre frozen lunch and perused headlines on the Washington Post.

A story about stricter federal regulations for child care centers or businesses was in the local section, which of course linked to other stories about atrocious child care, with stomach-turning stories of little ones innocently dying at the hands of the stupid, the inept, and the heartless.

I’ve written about my own daughters’ wonderful school (I don’t like the term “day care” and I detest the term “day-care kids.” Don’t make me explain.) When more-devoted-to-my-progeny-than-you moms smugly assert that day cares "lock up" your precious kids with cold, careless workers who probably secretly hate children, of course I bristle and of course I defend my girls’ school. You have no idea what you’re talking about, I say.

But these stories are bad. And the problems wide-spread. And the cobbled-together regulations make for patches of good care and large, unchecked areas of potentially dangerous care.

Now, reading these news stories, I have to wonder:

Have the mommy wars prevented serious discussion about affordable, high-quality day care? Have working mommies been so much on the defense, insisting day care is a perfectly good option, that we’ve ignored that good child care is a luxury?

A luxury? Decent care for a child is a luxury?

Chris and I have the questionable fortune to live in an extremely expensive area with some of the most expensive child care in the country. I have yet to read a statistic on the “exorbitant” cost of child care that even comes close to what we pay for our daughters’ care in their modest little center amidst the mansions of the uber, UBER wealthy. (Note: We dwell in a town different from where the girls' day care is located.)

Although I can’t wait to be rid of the cost of full-time care (our “when the girls start public school” list of projects—drapes, furniture, family room shades, shed—is quite long), I also happily pay it. The kids’ teachers have health insurance, turnover is low, teachers are rewarded for professional development, and so on.

Most noticably, Charlotte has thrived there, and Lorelei is on track to do the same.

But really, blah blah blah. Because it’s hard enough leaving your child with someone else, even when you’re confident of the level of care. I simply cannot imagine how difficult it is to leave your child someplace you know is questionable, especially when you have no choice. You must work. You MUST. “Choice” is a crock. Those stay-at-home moms pushing strollers in their yoga pants on the sidewalks of Bethesda where you get off the bus, or those sassy high-heeled working moms (quickly! quickly!) pushing a stroller to that fantastic (and expensive!) preschool a few blocks over? That’s not you. Those two women have more in common with each other than with you.

And what if your work—that you sacrifice time with your kid, potentially in a crappy day care—is menial? Joyless? Pointless? Obscenely low paying?

Oh my goodness, how trapped and hopeless these mommies (or daddies) must feel.

Children have zero responsibility for the quality of their circumstances. And perhaps if we paid as much attention to these young, innocent creatures who have no AARP to fear-monger a massive voting base to action (at the expense of the young, might I add), a powerful lobbying budget, or a big fat union incapable of effing change, then maybe these little ones would have a shot at better circumstances than their parents.

 

In other words, maybe we should put a few dollars toward leveling the playing field for those aged birth to 5 years instead of just compensating for that uneven playing field when these kids become poorly equipped adults.

 

Not doing so seems so short-sighted, no?

 

And really, some moms choosing to work because they can now afford decent child care would surely increase the tax base, possibly even bumping up the family's tax bracket. And the long-term benefits of having children in care where they're emotionally attended to, intellectually stimulated, and socially engaged? Having them actually ready to enter kindergarten? Surely our country would benefit. Hugely.

 

Anyway. As I pondered this quandary of apparently unreachable good care, I remembered a conversation I'd had. A couple months ago, one of my authors who happened to be in the area came by my office to talk about her book. She saw all my photos of Charlotte, which I refer to as "Charlotte wallpaper," and the ONE photo of Lorelei (note to self: print more pictures of Lorelei Belle), and she asked about them, wanting to know their child care situation.

 

I described their school, and she nodded, explaining that one of her 34 degrees was in child development and that she had spent a lot of time working and doing research in day care centers.

 

"Ah," I said, my working-mommy defenses gearing up to fight.

 

"I'd say about 1/3 are quite good, 1/3 are okay or mediocre, and 1/3 are downright bad," my author said.

 

"Oh." I immediately began mentally preparing the laundry list of my children's school's virtues.

 

She cut off my internal monologue. "Do they get benefits? The staff? Do they have benefits?"

"Yes," I replied. Lord knows we pay for them. "And very low turn-over," I added, probably uneccessarily. "My infant has the same teachers my 3-year-old had when she was a baby."

 

My author nodded approvingly, which, I'm slightly ashamed to admit, felt very validating. "Benefits are such a big factor, you wouldn't believe it. And low turnover is good. It means the teachers are happy."

 

Well, duh. But I nodded to be polite. And, well, I agreed with her. Contented staff = crucial.

 

"And your daughter seems happy?" she asked, referring, I assume, to Daughter #1.

 

"Incredibly," I said. "She runs into her classroom in the morning, so excited to be there, and I have to drag her away in the evenings."

 

"That's very good," she said. "That's very good."

 

I felt very, very smug. Wait. No, I mostly felt relieved. Like I had passed some sort of working mom test. Arrange good care that passes muster with a child development expert? Check.

 

Then she added, "If she ever seems unhappy, get a read on what's going on with her care. You know?"

 

Oh, sure. I nodded. Whatever.

 

So, a couple months later, here's the thing: Charlotte has been in a funk. I hoped it was due to us currently having company, a small cold, and the fact her main teacher was out all week. She's clingy but moody and tantrum-y.

The bad day care stories and my conversation with that author nagged at me, so I've been quizzing the heck out of her, trying to find out what the frick is going on at school.

 

Apparently, nothing. The most neurotic thing Chris and I can detect is that she has a new, weird fear of missing circle time. "And I love circle time very, very much!" she says.

 

Friends, she gets dropped off 2 hours before circle time. It's not like we're cutting it close.

I talked to her other teacher, and zero concerns. According to Charlotte, things are grand. She tells me all the fun projects she did, her nature walk, the pretend game she played with two friends (apparently it involved a cave, a bear, and a very bad dinosaur), and what color play-doh she made.

Which means: perhaps the problem is us. Well, I refreshed my knowledge of discipline while up with a crying Lorelei at 3:00 a.m., re-reading parts of 1-2-3 Magic on my Kindle. So, by 6:00 a.m., I was armed and ready to properly parent Charlotte, even if I was doing it on about 3 hours of sleep during what had already been The Longest Week Ever.

What is really bugging Charlotte is more detailed than I have time to go into, but ultimately I believe her bad behavior is a nasty combination of feeling powerless plus wanting attention (she's low girl on the totem pole when multiple people and tasks vie for our attention) in the mornings and evenings. So, I sought ways to make her feel, well, respected. And wow. It . . . worked. The child obeyed me, but with that typical Charlotte flair and goofiness I so love.

More on that some other time. In short, Chris and I dropped off a happy little goofball who was practically vibrating with excitement as we entered the school parking lot, because it was PAJAMA DAY.

Her friends, also pajama-clad, were arriving too, and perky teachers greeted each of them. Chris and I left the school, full of warm fuzzies. Yeah, I had had to check in and gauge any potential weirdness occurring at school, due to Charlotte's weirdness, but my little investigation turned up nothing more than Charlotte's extreme love of circle time and an unrealistic fear of missing it.

 

As I've said before, broad maligning of "daycare workers" (we call them teachers, no matter what age they work with) in which it is assumed they care little for the children for whom they are responsible, because they are not their own children, is, frankly, incredibly insulting to them. These women devote their careers--in some cases, 20 or 30 years long--to lovingly, capably caring for and molding the youngest, most vulnerable human beings on earth. They deserve great respect for the hard work they do. I love my girls' teachers so much, I get blubbery just writing their Christmas cards.

Perhaps that's because I know how lucky we are. And how, with the dumb luck of circumstance and good fortune, such care is within reach for us.

Great care is Charlotte and Lorelei is fabulous, but it's not nearly good enough. Obviously. What we need are more good daycares--lots of them. We need subsidies large enough to get slots in those good day cares, and more good day cares to open to compete for those subsidies. And sure, let's broaden Head Start, which isn't perfect, but it's statistically significantly better than nothing.

I'm a cranky, fiscally conservative taxpayer who loathes spending, but increased options for good child care is something for which I'd happily pay MORE in taxes.

Every mommy, whether she works by sheer neccessity or choice or some combination of the two [raises hand], deserves to walk away from her child's day care center with grin on her face.