Childcare Mamas & Daddies

Every year on Columbus Day, the 12 Kindercare schools in our district get together for their annual training. A parent or two are asked to give a speech about what the school means to their family. This year, I was asked. Would you like to read it?

I had to take a picture, I just had to.  I mean, come on, right?  Hashtag Kindercare!

Hi Kindercare teachers!  Thank you so much for having me.

My name is Blaine Turk and I am the mom to a lovely, defiant, hilarious, loudmouthed, impulsive and generous 4-year-old named Oliver, or Ollie, for short.  He has attended Kindercare in total for 3 years.  He went to Tutor Time in Brooklyn, New York his first year.

No parent really relishes the idea of sending their child to childcare, especially if they have to do so just weeks or months after the child is born.  Let’s face facts - for many parents, sending their child to daycare seems to be a necessary evil.  That is...until they finally realize all that they’re getting in that childcare package.  People don’t realize that in this one decision, their child is immediately receiving antibodies they never knew existed, and smart, creative, loving third parents.  Because that’s what all of you are.  I know that you are called teachers, but to me and my family, you are extra mamas and daddies - the third parent in my Ollie’s trio of caretakers - and I wouldn’t trade a single thing for having you in our lives.

I have a blog (I work at the Alzheimer’s Association so I know how important it is to write down your memories), and I wrote down all my fears on the first day that Ollie attended daycare in Brooklyn.  Among all of them (I counted, and there were 17), I worried that they would leave him in the crib and not play with him, that he’d feel abandoned, that he wouldn’t recognize me when I picked him up or that I wouldn’t recognize him, that I wouldn’t cry when dropping him off and childcare would think I was a bad mom, that they’d be impersonal towards my beautiful son or that they would get frustrated with him and harm him impulsively.  He’s my first child - is that obvious?   

I was also extremely jealous.  Someone else would get to pick him up when he cried and comfort him.  Someone else would get to have smiley time with him when changing his diaper.  Someone else would watch him explore and discover new toys, new people, new faces and new sounds.  Someone else would watch him grow up because for 40-50 hours a week, I wouldn't be there.

I wanted him to giggle and feel safe.  I wanted his childcare to not be just glorified babysitters, just someone to keep an eye on him, but people who taught him and loved him.

Little did I know that childcare would be a giant part of my son’s life, and all our lives, for nearly 5 years.  Childcare turned into preschool and now pre-K.  And not only do you teach him, you teach us.  You reassure us that we’re doing a good job and that Ollie is doing all the right things at all the right times.  You teach him things on your curriculum, but also all sorts of things I would never have thought of.  You are protective of him, you play with him, you soothe him, you think he’s genuinely funny and smart, and you, without a doubt, love him just as much as we do.

I stumbled across a poem the other day that is written about parents from the eyes of a child.  As I was reading it, I was suddenly struck by how many of the stanzas could just as well refer to you guys, his third parents, as much as it refers to us.

It’s called, “When You Thought I Wasn’t Looking,” by Mary Rita Shilke Korzan.

I’m only going to read a few parts of it:

When you thought I wasn’t looking,

I saw you hang my first painting on the refrigerator

And I immediately wanted to paint another one.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,

I saw you make my favorite cake for me

And I learned that the little things can be the special things in life.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,

I saw you take care of our house and everyone in it

And I learned we have to take care of what we are given.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,

I saw how you handled your responsibilities, even when you didn’t feel good

And I learned that I would have to be responsible when I grow up.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,

I saw tears come from your eyes

and I learned that sometimes things hurt, but it’s alright to cry.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,

I saw that you cared

And I wanted to be everything that I could be.

When you thought I wasn’t looking,

I learned most of life’s lessons

that I need to know to be a good and productive person when I grow up.

There are many stories that I’d love to share here, stories about how you rose up and were the glorious mamas that my son needed at various moments.

I could tell you about the time I got a call from childcare at 11am because Ollie had already reached his biting quota of 8 kids and I needed to pick him up. When I did, flustered and embarrassed, all the teachers had for us were smiles and sympathy, because it’s hard to be a kid (and a parent) sometimes.

I could tell you about that difficult time in his life when he was gluten-free and one of the activities one day was frosting cookies.  Instead of leaving him out or taking him to a different class, you found and defrosted a gluten-free cookie, let him smear some frosting on that and never told me about it.

I could tell you about the time that he was proudly wearing his t-shirt inside out and backwards because that’s how he put it on, and he came home exactly the same way.  I knew you guys were probably itching to fix it, but you didn’t, because you appreciated his need for control.

Or the time he wore a bike helmet all day and you could only remove it when he was sleeping.

Or the time I walked in and there was a three-year-old Go Fish ring.  Because that was the only thing that kept those kids busy and happy before pick-up.

I could tell you about the time my husband locked the keys, phone and our child in the car - snuggly buckled into his seat.  Miss C. let Doug use her phone multiple times, stayed an hour late and held up her phone to the window so Ollie could watch a TV show while they waited for me to bring the extra keys.

Or the time when Miss C. sheepishly admitted that because she was gluten-free and he was gluten-free, sometimes she finished off his food to assuage her own hunger - because that’s WHAT A MAMA DOES!

I could tell you about the time Ollie was moving to the new Kindercare and his new director visited him at his old school so that he'd see a familiar face on his first day.

Or I could tell you about those many times when you called me to tell me that he was having a good day, or to let Ollie announce proudly that he peed in the potty, or when he hadn’t bitten that day and you just called to let me know because (and I quote) “everyone needs good news now and then.”

Much like a parent, you teachers have celebrated our successes and groaned with us at life's failures. You have alerted me to his first word: “book.”  You’ve fed him from my body. You’ve watched him stand in his crib for the first time, taught him how to ride his first (albeit teeny) bike, and you introduced him to the infant swing (because we were silly and got to MamaRoo that everyone loved and he abhorred).  At Kindercare, you have thrown him his first Art show and his first concert.  You’ve bought donuts for my husband on Father’s Day and muffins for me on Mother’s Day.  You’ve made me birthday cards.  When Ollie broke three teeth and had to get them removed, you planned with me what he would eat that was soft.  When he had mono at three years old, you planned with me when was the soonest he could come back to school so that my husband and I could take minimal leave from work.  When he was being physically impulsive (I’ll just put it that way, but you know what I mean), we brainstormed different ways in which all three of us could work with him. To me and my husband, that all goes beyond a "teacher's" work.

 

The next stories I really want to share, however, show even more the magic that you guys show to hundreds of children every day. I know Ollie is not alone.

When Ollie was expected to move into preschool, he still wasn’t potty trained.  I was told he needed to start, and in the office, I had a little inward freak-out, but calmly, (because I didn't want Ms. C. to notice the pee beginning to shade the front of my jeans), asked how I should go about it in such little time.  We hadn't pushed it. She laughed and said:" Well, just rip it off like a Band-Aid and stick him in underwear!"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Put him in underwear tomorrow and go from there.  We've had a lot of success with that tactic."

"I'm sorry.  What do you mean? Like, like, put him in underwear tomorrow?!?  And just, you know, see what happens?!?"

She nodded and said, "Yep!  Exactly.  He's gone on the potty before, he knows how to do it. Actually, parents tend to be more nervous about it than the kiddos."

Uhhh...yeah, ya' think?  Because Ollie's not the one potentially sopping up puddles of pee off the leather sofa or picking poop corn out of the threads of his underwear and swim trunks.

But we did it.  Ollie was just past 3.  That evening, Ollie picked out some brand new underwear from Target and we set about potty-training.  Thanks to the advice of Ms. C. and the teamwork of his Daddy and all his Mamas, he had one success the first day.  The next day, six successes.  Then next day one accident and one giant poop in the potty.  It’s normal that we, as his parents,  celebrated him like he was a Yankee in the ticker tape parade, but so did you, giving him stickers, high fives and day trips to his friends in preschool - you celebrated like this was the first and only time you’ve ever seen a toddler master the toilet.  Because you are Mamas and you understood how big of a deal this was for him!

And you celebrated us too, because you knew how important it was to us that we succeed.  When I mentioned that he had gone on the potty at Home Depot, Ms. Colleen gaped at me and said that most parents don’t take the kid out of the house in the first two weeks.  You know that I sauntered out of there like I had won A MILLION DOLLARS.

Another time, I had gotten yet another report of Ollie biting, kicking and hurting others at school.  We were driving to the gym and I had had enough.  On a whim, I pulled into the fire station, parked the car, and searched out a fire fighter.  Her name was Mari, and I told her that while I knew this wasn’t a good usage of her time and my tax dollars, my little boy was biting and hurting others at school.  Because he was a big fan of "fire fire-ers," I wondered if maybe she would talk with him.  I had no more ideas left.  Without a second thought, she grabbed her helmet and walked out to the car.  "I'm Fire Fighter Mari," she introduced herself, "and I hear you've been biting at school."  It was awesome!  He was in equal parts awed and embarrassed.  

The next day, I mentioned the story to Miss C. and Miss A., his teachers, and they told that day’s special guest, a visiting police officer, who talked with Ollie about their “mutual” friend, FireFighter Mari, and why he shouldn't bite people.  Together with Kindercare, we barraged you with anti-biting and anti-violence messages.  It worked like a dream, and Ollie hasn’t bitten since. (Knock on wood!)

You’ve taught Ollie things that we can see and hear - such as writing his name, learning his continents and speaking in Spanish, and you’ve also taught him lessons.

A couple of weeks ago, I took Ollie to Wendy's for a dinner date.  Everyone wanted to talk to him: a family who wanted to share toys and talk about their evening, an older couple, the worker and a man and his son.  It actually got kind of annoying.  We got out to the car and I said sarcastically, "Sheesh, Ollie, we made some friends at the Wendy's, didn't we?"  He looked up at me and said, "Well, a neighbor's someone you haven't met yet, Mama."

And I thought - that little sucker’s right. And he's listening to us.

Each and every one of you is making a difference in our lives.  And that isn’t only because you take care of him so that my husband and I can work, but because everything you’re doing is affecting every aspect of our lives.  You have affected how Ollie learns to love, to be kind and gentle, to find patience, to appreciate the little things, to trust and communicate, to be responsible, to have self-awareness, to learn to cope, to be productive and, most importantly, to  have fun.  

The most impressive part of all of that, is that he’s not the first and won’t be the last child that you make feel this cared for every day.  We know that Ollie is very special to you, just as every child is.  It’s impossible that you can find the strength and patience to do it every single day, but you make it look effortless.

The last part of that poem is something that I can't find the words to say myself:

When you thought I wasn’t looking

I looked at you and wanted to say

Thanks for all the things I saw when you thought I wasn’t looking.

Thank you so much for being Mamas and Daddies to Ollie.  We couldn’t do this crazy wild life without you and we wouldn't want to.  We love you very much.

Thank you.