daycare part 2

First entry of the saga can be found here. Yeah, here I go again. I should probably give daycare its own category here because I have a feeling I am going to have a lot to say about it in the coming months.

I have to mention that this is a horrible time to be looking at daycares. A newspaper in a large city nearby just did an expose on local daycares, and what it revealed is frightening. Also, a man has been in the news lately for committing TWENTY-ONE counts of molestation during naptime at a local daycare.

I have to say this about it because it’s what I know in my heart: Daycare is risky. Trusting complete strangers to care for your infant or baby or child is a crapshoot. There are many factors that contribute to this truth, (terrible wages, immature and/or uneducated staff) but bottom line: Kids are a pain in the ass. They just are. They are difficult and demanding and they’re just learning about how the world works and unfortunately things like walking and talking come before good etiquette. But when they’re your children, you just put up with it. You nurture them, you teach them, you cringe when they try to bite your hand away when all you’re doing is trying to keep them from throwing their body into the street to be run down by fucking assholes driving around oblivious talking on their cell phones!

Reading through all the violations for various daycare centers, there were the usual citations for things like leaving medicines or toxic materials in unlatched cabinets, play structures that are not equipped with padded mats underneath to limit broken bones, unsecured doors, and even the one place that was storing COMET CLEANER in a cabinet with the toys. And then there are the less common ones, like the incident where  two year old child was lifted from the ground by one arm so that his feet were dangling like a rag doll when a daycare provider probably got fed up with being gentle and decided to move him like he was furniture. I’m not naive. I know these incidents don’t happen in isolation and I doubt little Sammy Sunshine was quietly playing and not causing any trouble when his daycare teacher tried to rip his arm out of the socket. I’m sure he bit her or smacked her or said something lippy to cause her to lose her patience with him, but guess what? When someone is paying you to have patience, you need to show some fucking restraint and HAVE PATIENCE.

Last on the list of unbelievable shit I read (I am not even counting molestation because that is in a category all its own) were the citations for shaming or humiliating a child. One child was made fun of by his daycare provider for wetting his pants, another was told her hair looked stupid and she was an ugly mess after playing outside. That kind of shit is just not cool. What kind of asshole chooses a child as a target for that kind of bullshit? I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me considering how many maladjusted adults there are in the world. And I realize they’re just continuing the cycle. But if you’re a fucking pig who can’t act right to a child, why put up with the stress of working at a daycare? You could work at Walmart and probably make better money. Though try acting out on your customers there and you’re likely to find yourself on the wrong end of an ass kicking because unlike children adults can defend themselves.

Anyway, this probably sounds weird, but I would rather my child fall off a jungle gym and break a bone in daycare than be treated like shit by a caregiver. I am a huge fan of discipline, but I like the kind that helps a child grow into a mature adult who can handle himself in the world. The kind of discipline where you use emotional abuse to get a child to bend to your will and obey is just a great way to create a neurotic headcase who will eventually need lots of therapy. I know what I’m talking about here.

Anyway, after scaring the shit out of myself I am ready to start making some calls. Next week is going to be full of daycare touring fun and I’m sure I’ll have more to say about it then.

Here’s a fun site I spent a lot of time at last year, making myself feel like shit. I actually sat and cried about the sad cartoon baby up in the corner because all I could think was that would be Joey in is crib, staring up and crying because he wanted his mama (uneccesary drama: A side-effect of not being medicated--I am better now) It’s like a crazy PETA organization for children. PETC. Can you imagine putting this shit on your car? And then driving around a business park? HAHA. Why not just wear a big sign around your neck begging people to kick your ass?

Comments

[hubs]

I just looked at that website briefly. Do they mention any alternatives or are they just bitching?

[Mama G]

I feel for you ... daycare shopping simply sucks. But at least you are realistic enough to know that not one of them is 100% perfect. That's half the battle! Good luck ... with both the search for daycare and the job!

[Mallika]

When my parents and I moved to the USA for a while back in the mid-'80s, they put me in daycare for a while because they had to work and I wasn't yet old enough for preschool/1st grade. (The daycare cost $50 a week, and I was around 4 years old.)

I remember things from that experience, so you can imagine how much of an impact those days made on me. They forced you to eat and sleep at specific times, but that was kind of expected back then -- what was not was how they enforced this thing. I remember one girl screaming and crying because she didn't want to eat the spaghetti that they'd made for us for lunch that day. One of the caregivers forced her to eat every single bite even when she said she wasn't hungry, didn't want to, felt sick, etc. Of course, she threw up five minutes after she finished. She was forced to help clean the mess and was then punished by being told to sit in a corner for the rest of the day.

I remember vividly something that happened to me. We were given these coloring sheets with a flag pole and a blank flag on it, and told to color the flag. They didn't specify anything other than that, so I decided to color my flag purple and blue, with little red hearts. One of the caregivers came by, saw what I was doing, and dragged me over to the American flag that was propped up in a corner of the room.

"What colors are that flag?" she asked me.

I was scared. I didn't know what I had done wrong, but I was sure it was -something-, seeing as how I was singled out and she's pressing me hard against her side. I didn't say anything, too nervous and scared to do so.

"I asked you a question. What are the colors on that flag?"

I remember not daring to look at her face, instead staring at her throat, noting the gold necklace she wore and the fact that she was showing a bit of cleavage. (Of course I didn't know it was called cleavage then.)

"Blue, red, and white," I whispered miserably.

"And it has stars on it," she said. "Now, what kind of flag is purple and has hearts? Not the American flag, and surely not the flag of your country. You're in America. Don't you know what the flag looks like?"

She guided me over to the table, took my coloring sheet and tore it in half, then gave me another one. "Here, do it over. I want the American flag this time. If you don't remember what it looks like, go over to the corner and look at it. I don't want any more purple flags from you."

It doesn't seem that big a deal now, but I can tell you that I was terrified and quite embarrassed. I also ate lunch late that day, since it was insisted that I finish the flag before I could start eating.

[Mallika]

Yikes, sorry about that long-ass comment. I got a bit carried away there, heh. :)