Jeremy has a book that reads: "The zebras go chompity chompity. The elephants go stompity stompity. The giraffes go munchity munchity." Well, "the mommies go f*ckity f*ckity." At least when they are told that Jeremy is being fired by his daycare provider.
That's right. After just five months at Teacher Robert's, Robert informs us -- at 5:30pm on a Friday evening -- that he can no longer care for Jeremy. Rationally speaking, I understand. And maybe I even saw it coming. Three weeks ago, Robert and his partner Bill suddenly had two sweet little girls placed in their home for adoption: Alex is 2-1/2, and Jamie celebrated her first birthday the day after they arrived. If any one knows the way in which life is upended by the sudden arrival of a baby, it is Barb & I! And two girls, each with their personalities in full bloom! We knew that Robert and Bill intended to adopt young siblings when Jeremy first started in Robert's care. In fact, we first met Robert and Bill because of the adoption connection. We met them when when we were awaiting Bella's arrival, blithely thinking that Jeremy would develop a great relationship with an au pair.
[This is an absolute non sequitor, but I am watching late-night reruns of the Olympic opening ceremonies and chuckling at the Ricola horn players and the starring role of the Stanford mascot uniform:
The Tree!]
Anticipating the girls' arrival, Robert had arranged for a friend (and mom to kids he used to care for) to work with him temporarily so he could manage his daycare and his new daddy role. I came close to telling him that he shouldn't count on Denis. He had encouraged us to hire her as a personal assistant when Barb had her surgery. But his enthusiasm and interest in helping her make some extra money left him blind to the fact that she was simply uninterested in doing that kind of work. The situation was compounded by the fact that she seemed to be the kind of person that can't say "no." She mouthed vague comments implying she'd help (she probably really did want the money) but then backed out belatedly when we tried nailing down specifics. I kept my lip buckled about our reservations, though, figuring Robert had a better relationship with Denis. But maybe, just maybe Robert should have clued in when Denis drug her feet getting the TB test and background check required by the state licensing board to do daycare. Her reluctance meant that Robert had to shut down his daycare for a week on short notice, leaving us all scrambling for back-up. (THANK YOU, JANELLE!)
Turns out, Denis is not going to work for Robert any more (surprise), and he is not going to hire anyone else to help him. Instead of recruiting someone else to work with him, instead of asking us to help him brainstorm ways he can solve the puzzle of trying to put two one-year-olds down for a nap at the same time, instead of waiting a few more weeks until he works through this huge adjustment in his life, he just tells us he can no longer care for Jeremy. What the f*ck? "I'll give you some time to find something else." Gee, thank you.
Is this what the child care scene is in America? Unpredictable? Fickle? Undependable? Temporary? How do kids learn accountability if the people caring for them don't embody it? I don't get it. I know I am biased, but I think Jeremy is a great kid. He is so much fun and he opens his big heart with his 10,000 watt smile. Why have his two day care providers turned away from him? I would think that people who choose child care as a profession would be standing in line to enroll a kid like Jeremy. It makes me sad. And mad. I am sure we will find someone we trust and respect to take care of our boy. But it is simply not fair that Jeremy -- who is not even 15 months old -- has to deal with all this change. You can't tell me that the fact he woke up 3 times tonight (which is why I am tapping this out at 3am) after being such a good sleeper lately is unrelated.
F*ckity f*ckity.
Now isn't that a pretty piece of work? Would you hire me as your handyman? This is the latch on the child gate at the top of the stairs. The gate is top-rate, but the Home Depot screws that I used to mount the hardware must have been factory rejects, because they sheared off in the stud after only five or six months. Instead of just replacing the screws, I invoked the spirit of my grandfather Jule, threw aesthetics out the window, and decided to make darn sure that the latch would never break again. The solution may be ugly, but the gate is now guaranteed to withstand opening and closing at least 50 times a day, a swinging toddler, 100 pounds of labrador mutts barreling into it, and any other abuse it will certainly endure. I think Jule O. Pritchard would be proud.
