The Great Daycare Debacle: Part 1 (of who knows how many)

Noah started at his second new daycare on August 2nd. That’s two daycares in three months. This is a lesson in listening to your instincts, in following your gut, in paying attention to your “mama” radar. It’s true...when you give birth you also grow an antenna on your head that is on full-alert mode 24/7. It flashes green or red depending on the circumstances and is a constant buzz in your ear. I didn’t listen to that buzz and I wish I had.

I got my job back on May 9th with a start date of June 7th. We had one month to figure out childcare for Noah. One month in a city where daycare wait lists are two years long, decent nannies are hard to find, and lord help you if you don’t have Grandma living nearby to come watch your kids. Nothing like a little fire under your ass, am I right? But let’s back up a week, shall we? Before I went to my meeting with my former employer I started looking into childcare. I knew I would be working SOMEWHERE, I just didn’t know it would happen so fast. I found our first daycare provider on Craigslist. I know some people think Craigslist is populated by serial killers but I have had great luck with it as a resource. Why not give it a shot for childcare too?

Her ad was well-written and linked to the well-designed website she had built for her business. She was a young, seemingly energetic woman who was just starting out in the in-home daycare business (warning no. 1). She had a background in elementary education and art. She had a young, infant son who looked cute and well-cared for. Her home was a mile from our house and a mile from the train I would need to take to work. She was taking two infants and two toddlers in addition to her son. She had one toddler spot left. This is me thinking “Score!”. I called right away and set up an appointment for the following afternoon, May 8th.

I walked into her townhome and right away noticed that it wasn’t in the best shape (warning no. 2). She had told me over the phone that it was a rental but had permission from her landlord to run her daycare out of the space. Perhaps I am too forgiving because then she told me her townhome was for sale and they may need to relocate come March. I forged on. She took me to the dedicated play space set up for the kids...it looked cute and well-appointed with toys and activities, if a little on the small side for a couple active toddlers and three babies. She was sweet and reminded me of one of my good friends. On a personality level, we clicked pretty quickly and fell into an easy conversation. Her rates were affordable and she would be feeding the kids two meals and all snacks. She said there was a deposit if we wanted the spot and warned that she had a couple more appointments set up with parents for the toddler spot so I should let her know right away if we wanted it. She wasn’t taking kids until July 1st at the earliest because she hadn’t gotten her DCFS license yet (warning no. 3). I told her I had an interview the next day and would let her know.

I went home and told Tim that I liked it, it would be fine (warning no. 4), we should secure the spot. We decided to wait until after my meeting with my former employer before deciding what to do. The next day I went to my meeting and got my job back with a start date one month away. And then I went home and panicked. I knew we would never find anything we could afford in such a short period of time and that we should take the in-home spot. But I didn’t feel 100% confident that the in-home was the right place for Noah (warning no. 5). To be honest, I didn’t know what it was, I couldn’t identify the feeling I was experiencing. I chalked it up to being terrified about someone else taking care of Noah in my absence and needing to adjust to the idea of working again. In hindsight, it wasn’t going back to work or the fear of change that was really nagging at me.

I called her the following Monday and asked to drop off the deposit and contract. We secured our spot at the in-home daycare with a start date of June 21st. My first day of work was June 7th so my sister took one for the team and stayed with us to help take care of Noah for those two weeks. We love her for it. I was waiting for the wave of relief to wash over me. I got my old job back in a matter of a week, we found a daycare solution for Noah that seemed perfect (on paper), and things should have been falling into place. That wave of relief never came.

To be continued...

Judgment is not the best form of flattery

(Here’s some salt.  Take a grain of it while you read.)

I hate the game.  You know the game.  The Mommy Game we all play where one Mommy is a Good Mommy and the other a Bad Mommy. Good Mommies have only wooden toys handmade in the mountains of Appalachia and purchased at the independent toy shop down the street.  Bad Mommies buy their mostly plastic, battery powered toys at the local Mega Store.  Good Mommies serve only organic, locally-grown, hormone-free, pesticide-free, cage-free, free-range, grass-fed foods to their whole families while Bad Mommies do their best but don’t get worked up if the local market is out of organic milk.  Good Mommies have all their preschool applications completed months before they’re due. Bad Mommies didn’t know they were a month behind. Good Mommies sign their kids up for a wide-range of classes so their kids can find their “passion”.  Bad Mommies miss the sign-up deadline and just say “we’ll try for next session”.  Good Mommies stay home and raise their children.  Bad Mommies go to work and hire someone else to take care of their kids. (Here is where you need that grain of salt.)

It’s a terrible game to play, the Mommy Game.  No one wins.  The self-declared Good Mommies sit smugly atop their gilded thrones while the Bad Mommies have no idea they’re being judged from above.  At what point does the Game end?  When do the Good Mommies and the Bad Mommies start to play nicely together?  How do we move past the judgments?  Aren’t we all just trying to do the best we can with what we have?  

Everyday as a parent, as a Mommy, is a struggle.  So why do we always make that individual struggle into a group competition with no clear winner?  I’m ready to step up and say “You do your thing, I’ll do mine, and let’s just throw the kids in the sandbox together”.  There is no need to “one up” each other when what we really need is to support one another in all of our incarnations.  We’re all Good Mommies, at least in the eyes of our children.

A little about me...feel free to skim

It’s been suggested by those who have gone before me, aka BlogHer attendees from years past, that I write a few interesting tidbits about my glowing personality so anyone who comes here after getting one of my business blog cards (thank you, husband, for mocking me) can see what I’m all about.  But then I laughed and laughed because in all reality I am not that interesting and just really good at pretending.

But, in the interest of being a team player, here you go:

• I’m short and feel frumpy in flats but will most likely be wearing them because I feel silly in heels outside of the office.  Oh and my fabulous wedges broke a strap the other day and that rightfully pissed me off.
• I used to be painfully shy. Then I went to college, joined a sorority (In The Bond, bitches) and got myself elected president. I am kind of really proud of that accomplishment even if all I did was act important and save us from social probation on more than one occasion.
• As if you didn’t know, I am the mother to the world’s smartest two year old (proven) and the wife to a husband who thinks he can learn all he needs to know in life from the Discovery and History channels. Those addictions are why we can’t get rid of cable, not my love affair with Bravo.
• I love my dog and hate my cat. There. I said it. I have become a cat discriminator.
• I think wine on the back deck in the summer with friends and the kids running in circles is the best happy hour in the world.
• I love lipsticks/glosses and forget everyday to reapply. To those of you who remember, I am supremely jealous of your shiny lips.
• I live in a 130 year OLD OLD OLD house and bought it because of it’s “original! hardwood! floors! and! beautiful! white! trim!” and now I wish I lived in a brand new house. Squeaky floors lose their charm after the 100th time the baby wakes up when you walk down the hallway.
• On the surface, I pretend I am a “just in case” kind of girl and I usually have a little cosmetics bag with basic necessities in my diaper bag. In reality, what I usually need is never in that little bag but the other moms always have it “just in case”. They drive me crazy.
• I constantly feel like I am not “old enough” to be someone’s mom. I look at the other moms at daycare pick up and think “I bet they have it together and know what’s for dinner.”
• Lastly, I get nervous meeting new people and will either be really outgoing to the point of scaring you or so painfully shy you’ll think I have never been allowed in public before. Hand me a cocktail and I’ll be ok.

There you have it, folks. I hope you like me if you meet me and if you already know me, feel free to tell everyone how fabulous I am. There may be a treat in store for you.

Suited up for battle

This is going to be short because it is a) LATE and b) I am going to see her (squeee!) tomorrow morning with her (yay!) so I have a road trip to prepare for and by prepare I mean get to sleep.  Anyhow, in the great, magnanimous City of Chicago (and yes, it is ALWAYS capitalized like that because we think we are more important than we actually are), come June one must purchase a city sticker for their vehicle.  This is mandatory and if you don't do it (as I have learned the hard way) you will be ticketed to the tune of $150-ish buckaroos.  These stickers are damn expensive so it's not something I take to kindly.  Tim drives a Prius which is classified by the city as a "passenger" vehicle (I know, brilliant) and therefore his sticker cost is $75.  I drive a 2003 Acura MDX (SUV) which is classified as a "large passenger" vehicle (again, the City of Chicago amazes me with the clever naming) and my sticker cost is $120.  Hell no, that's ridiculously expensive for the right to park my car on the streets.

Let me just say that living on a tight budget for a couple of years makes me question the list price of everything.  Oh, you say, you haggled with the CITY?  No, my dears, I did not.  What I did was lookup the city code that governs the laundry list of vehicles that are classified as "large passenger".  The city says that for your vehicle to classify as "large passenger" it must have a curb weight of 4,500 lbs or more.  Acura MDXs are on that list.  However, I couldn't take that at face value.  I KNOW car manufacturers change the weights of their models all the time, especially when the model has been RECENTLY redesigned (MDX redesign in 2006-7).  Do you see where I'm going with this?  I looked up the curb weight of my 2003 MDX and found that it is 49 lbs shy of 4,500 lbs, or the minimum weight to classify as a "large passenger" vehicle.  NOT SO FAST CITY OF CHICAGO.

That is how I found myself at the City Clerk's office at noon today shoving my findings in the face of the poor, overworked city employee (which, NO, Chicago city employees are neither poor nor overworked) and requesting (nay, demanding) that I speak to someone about this discrepancy.  Lucky for me, the city employee had no desire to deal with my complaining.  She gave the papers a look over, decided I wasn't trying to scam the city, and gave me the $75 "passenger" vehicle sticker.  I am now the proud owner of a 2003 Acura TL coupe, at least in the eyes of the City of Chicago. And my wallet is $45 heavier.  Not bad for a day's work fighting the system.

If you made it to the end of this story, then BRAVO, because it was not short as promised.  I need to come up with better material.

Spinkles, Mommy!

Dear Noah,

Happy Birthday to you!  Today you are TWO!  TWO!  I can hardly believe it.  At two, you are:  funny (SO funny), dramatic, spirited, joyous, energetic, talkative, demanding, gentle, and most days, kind.  You have such a way with words...a vocabulary and understanding I didn't anticipate at two years old.  You are my little parrot, repeating everything I say, and I do mean EVERYTHING.  Your new favorite phrase is "Peee Ewww, Mommy! Noah stinky feet!" which is kind of true most days. 

These past couple of months have been tough on you.  I went back to work and you started at daycare at Miss S's house.  We've had a few rough days adjusting to our new routines but we're getting there.  You love your new friends at Miss S's and ask for them every morning when you wake up.  I love that you love to be there...knowing you're happy makes being away from you a little easier.  In truth, I have had a harder time leaving you than you have had being away from me.  I'm so pleased you're an adaptable little fellow.  Now I just need to learn from you.

Thank you, Noah, for continuously teaching us how to be better parents.  We have been entrusted with the greatest responsibility in raising you and we're so proud of the little boy you're becoming.  

You are the brightest part of my day.  I'm so excited to see what the next years have in store for us, for our little family.

Happy 2nd Birthday my love.

Love, 

Mommy

I claim that there was not fair warning

Did you know that working full time and then taking care of a CAH-RAZY almost two year old makes you so tired you can't string two words together let alone write a meaningful blog post?  It's true!  I'm living proof!  My brain is fried by 5 pm.  This post is a short placeholder until I can get Noah's TWO YEAR OLD post done.  How is he TWO?  Explain that to me.  Go ahead.  

A little less happy

I was all sorts of excited to purchase my BlogHer conference party pass today with my first paycheck (yahoo!) and THEN!  IT WAS NOT AVAILABLE.  Gone.  Dunzo.  Not happening.  BUT I HAVE A PLANE TICKET!  THAT IS NOT REFUNDABLE!  I AM YELLING AND MAD ABOUT THIS!

So, friends, do YOU know anyone who wants to sell their pass?  I'm buying.  If I don't get a pass, I'll be the girl with her face smooshed to the glass door of the Hilton yelling "LET ME IN!!!!!".  Please don't make me be that girl.  Please.