Ahh, man...
I knew instantly as she appeared at the door; one, because she came to the back via the wrong side of the house, two, because she was clutching a pad of paper, and three, because she's old and fat and looks like a gramma.
There's no way in hell she's going to register her kid here. I instantly recognize the "my-child-is-gonna-drown" expression, despite the pool is gated TWICE and locked.
I operate an impeccable daycare, safe, clean, bright and airy, fully licensed with all the Health Authority processes in place, yet they still talk the talk, this being they like to discuss how wonderful their last daycare was, how their child is highly intelligent and gifted and do I provide snacks, and what is my curriculum.
Ahh, fuck! Another asshole mom who thinks her 2 year old daughter can pat her head and stomach at the same time, all the while singing Celine Dion, en francais!
I already know what the pad of paper is and it's intent. I've come across it a few times. It's full of questions which, really, serve no purpose because any daycare operator can spew the answers, the ones the parents like to hear, with all the buzz words that provoke a frenzy of note taking:
Q: How long have you been running a daycare?
A: 5 years. Before that I ran a whore house.
Q: I notice you have a pool. Do you go in this area?
A: No, you stupid dweeb. You just walked down the wrong path and I hope you walked through a bunch of spiderwebs.
Q: What is your daily routine.
A: Well, first I take a dump, then brush my teeth....OHhhh, you mean daycare routine. Well now, let's see...
since your child is two we probably will start off with some intricate algebra, maybe trigonometry, then we'll move on to ancient studies.
Q: Who is your backup when you get sick.
A: My husband, and thank God for that because he just got released from prison. Frankly, just between me and you, I can't handle the Mary Jane as well as I could before. And besides, the HeP C seems under control.
Q: I notice you allow the kids to play on the computer. Do you have some sort of block of "bad" websites.
A: Wow, that's a first! No one has ever asked me that question before. Gosh darn, I ensure my daycare kids have access to the best darn porn around, because I know there's lots of real bad ones out there. And, how proud am I, my 4 and 5 year olds actually know how to spell words like: sex, porn, Paris Hilton, and can google just any old "bad" website.
Q: Do you do arts and crafts.
A. Hell, ya! I let them sit in their shitty diapers all day and you should see the cute faces they make when they can't waddle around anymore, how they need to balance themselves as they walk, the dynamics of shit walking is definitely an art...then I make them wipe their own asses, now that's crafty.
Q: Since my daughter is a genius, she's won't be needing to nap in a playpen. Where will she sleep?
A: How the hell should I know! I'm napping.
Showing posts with label daycare. Show all posts
Showing posts with label daycare. Show all posts
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Picky Parents and the Child Nose Pickers
This morning, after her comment, I felt my blood heat up my face. Count to 10, Colleen, count to 10. But I knew my eyes were already in a defensive, glassy stare, as she kept explaining her reasons as to why I need to feed her son 5,000 times a day.
He's a vegetarian, they need to graze all day long with a multitude of offerings, fruits and vegetables and grains, "he's a vegetarian, you know".
Son is 22 months old and similar in age with the other kids here, which is to say, the other kids don't bring pork chops and veal cutlets for snack time either.
Son's lunch box is a large pail full of fruit, vegetables, big bags of cookies, cereal, granola bars, cheese sandwiches, juice, snack after snack that require preparation time. Not like the other kid's lunchboxes with snack and lunch meals pre-cut, pre-contained, ready to go.
I find myself trying to slice up an avocado, or a pear, determining how many mini crisps I should take from big bag.
And now I'm just plain annoyed. Son seems to be losing weight and she's concerned. Guess what, son is growing up and is getting taller, not to mention he shits 5 times a day.
Yesterday she asked that I spend more one-on-one time with son because she's been neglecting him lately by going out, and by going out I mean by "going to work". I'll just ignore the other five kids for a bit because apparently their parents are out carousing.
Count to 10, Colleen, count to 10. I blurt out, "okay", because in the back of my mind I see a brand new travel trailer payment coming up soon. And, yes, I'll make sure he doesn't get hurt by the other kids, even though your kid is the biggest bully, hair-pulling, face scratching, toy snatching kid here.
She's not as bad as one customer I use to have. Their son was 2 years old, still needed to have his milk bottled WARMED UP. As well as his water sippy-cup WARMED UP. They phoned the daycare about 3-4 times a day, usually during nap time, which woke son up, as well as the other kids.
During winter, with the drive and walk-way covered in snow and ice, father tip-toed, inch by inch, baby steps, carrying son to safety, despite drive and walk-way lathered in melt-away and salts.
They phoned once to ask if son had his snack, which I replied "no, he wasn't hungry". Then panic on the other side of the phone, "is he alright, is he fainting, is he breathing??!!!" Utter panic.
From then on I told them he ate like a pig.
He's a vegetarian, they need to graze all day long with a multitude of offerings, fruits and vegetables and grains, "he's a vegetarian, you know".
Son is 22 months old and similar in age with the other kids here, which is to say, the other kids don't bring pork chops and veal cutlets for snack time either.
Son's lunch box is a large pail full of fruit, vegetables, big bags of cookies, cereal, granola bars, cheese sandwiches, juice, snack after snack that require preparation time. Not like the other kid's lunchboxes with snack and lunch meals pre-cut, pre-contained, ready to go.
I find myself trying to slice up an avocado, or a pear, determining how many mini crisps I should take from big bag.
And now I'm just plain annoyed. Son seems to be losing weight and she's concerned. Guess what, son is growing up and is getting taller, not to mention he shits 5 times a day.
Yesterday she asked that I spend more one-on-one time with son because she's been neglecting him lately by going out, and by going out I mean by "going to work". I'll just ignore the other five kids for a bit because apparently their parents are out carousing.
Count to 10, Colleen, count to 10. I blurt out, "okay", because in the back of my mind I see a brand new travel trailer payment coming up soon. And, yes, I'll make sure he doesn't get hurt by the other kids, even though your kid is the biggest bully, hair-pulling, face scratching, toy snatching kid here.
She's not as bad as one customer I use to have. Their son was 2 years old, still needed to have his milk bottled WARMED UP. As well as his water sippy-cup WARMED UP. They phoned the daycare about 3-4 times a day, usually during nap time, which woke son up, as well as the other kids.
During winter, with the drive and walk-way covered in snow and ice, father tip-toed, inch by inch, baby steps, carrying son to safety, despite drive and walk-way lathered in melt-away and salts.
They phoned once to ask if son had his snack, which I replied "no, he wasn't hungry". Then panic on the other side of the phone, "is he alright, is he fainting, is he breathing??!!!" Utter panic.
From then on I told them he ate like a pig.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Clint Eastwood Never Peed His Pants
It was a scorcher yesterday, a high plains drifter sort of thing, with the desert heat rising, a foggy mirage drifting towards the horizon, then, poof, he's gone. And it would happen, in the heat of anger, a child has left daycare, poof, melted by the sun. It was just that quick.
Here's how it happened.
I do a pretty good job running the daycare, taking care of little children, treating them as if they were my own. In fact, my clients praise me for my efforts and I am rewarded with long term relationships, a partnership of caregiving that allows me to see their babies grow and grow until the inevitable first day of school.
I know their children well. I was there.
One little guy is in the process of being potty-trained. He's about 2-1/2 years old and is being bribed to use the toilet. He went from diapers, to training pants, to big boy underwear within a month, poof, he's toilet trained. Or so his parents think.
One day he showed up at daycare in big boy undies because he's been using the toilet at home "all the time", and he gets presents, and if he pees it's just a little accident. At daycare it is not an accident, it's an unhygenic headache I have to deal with, keeping other children away from the puddle, finding the carpet and couch locations where he played, or sat, and peed. It's time consuming.
So I changed him, putting on his spare clothes his mother has conveniently had the foresight to bring, since I suppose their version of "all the time" really means "he's gonna pee because we brought extra clothes". And, yes, the cute little pugsley-wugsley peed again. Did we make a wittle mistake...a wittle waccident.
Listen here, high plains drifter, your little cowboy needs to wear training pants at daycare. You should have been there, it was like high noon had struck, itchy fingers dangling ever so closely to her gun belt, sweat sluggishly sliding down her brow, draw!
She shot me, screaming, "how dare I put him back in training pants over two little accidents, and how they worked so hard to toilet train him, and how unprofessional I am, and I'm going to make phone calls, and I'm going to report you, and your daycare makes my child ill all the time because of the other children, so an eye-for-an-eye, they can damn well walk in my son's pee". Well, that was the jest of it.
All the while I'm wondering who was this person, since I've never seen her act like this before, but I stood my ground, dug my spurs deep into the linoleum and told this imposter, no big boy undies until I am certain he won't pee on my carpets again. Another client was picking up his children and witnessed this whole ordeal, and so did all the little children nearby. It's not nice to yell at daycare, it's scary, it's tacky, it's having no regard for other people in an attempt to have it your own way.
In fact, I compromised. I was willing to allow her son to come in the next day wearing undies, but should he pee in them, I was going to put on training pants, not another set of spare clothes. I was being fair, I think, meeting her half way. But no, she stormed off, with little cowboy riding the reigns, with a training pant weighed down with urine.
Then the phone calls start coming in, late in the evening, by a husband who has heard her version of what happened, and he sounds tipsy, and I just hang up. Then she calls. Apparently, there's been a big miscommunication. Well, no actually, there's hasn't. You're still not going to have it your way, so fuck off.
I don't take too kindly to threats, you see, she said some dang good fighting words I am not willing to forget. After all, I took care of her son for well over a year, she didn't complain then. I hope she makes all her phone calls, as she attempts to hang my daycare high. I wish her well in all her endeavors, but I already know, there's no one, not one marshal in the land willing to shut me down over her son's tighty-whiteys.
Here's how it happened.
I do a pretty good job running the daycare, taking care of little children, treating them as if they were my own. In fact, my clients praise me for my efforts and I am rewarded with long term relationships, a partnership of caregiving that allows me to see their babies grow and grow until the inevitable first day of school.
I know their children well. I was there.
One little guy is in the process of being potty-trained. He's about 2-1/2 years old and is being bribed to use the toilet. He went from diapers, to training pants, to big boy underwear within a month, poof, he's toilet trained. Or so his parents think.
One day he showed up at daycare in big boy undies because he's been using the toilet at home "all the time", and he gets presents, and if he pees it's just a little accident. At daycare it is not an accident, it's an unhygenic headache I have to deal with, keeping other children away from the puddle, finding the carpet and couch locations where he played, or sat, and peed. It's time consuming.
So I changed him, putting on his spare clothes his mother has conveniently had the foresight to bring, since I suppose their version of "all the time" really means "he's gonna pee because we brought extra clothes". And, yes, the cute little pugsley-wugsley peed again. Did we make a wittle mistake...a wittle waccident.
Listen here, high plains drifter, your little cowboy needs to wear training pants at daycare. You should have been there, it was like high noon had struck, itchy fingers dangling ever so closely to her gun belt, sweat sluggishly sliding down her brow, draw!
She shot me, screaming, "how dare I put him back in training pants over two little accidents, and how they worked so hard to toilet train him, and how unprofessional I am, and I'm going to make phone calls, and I'm going to report you, and your daycare makes my child ill all the time because of the other children, so an eye-for-an-eye, they can damn well walk in my son's pee". Well, that was the jest of it.
All the while I'm wondering who was this person, since I've never seen her act like this before, but I stood my ground, dug my spurs deep into the linoleum and told this imposter, no big boy undies until I am certain he won't pee on my carpets again. Another client was picking up his children and witnessed this whole ordeal, and so did all the little children nearby. It's not nice to yell at daycare, it's scary, it's tacky, it's having no regard for other people in an attempt to have it your own way.
In fact, I compromised. I was willing to allow her son to come in the next day wearing undies, but should he pee in them, I was going to put on training pants, not another set of spare clothes. I was being fair, I think, meeting her half way. But no, she stormed off, with little cowboy riding the reigns, with a training pant weighed down with urine.
Then the phone calls start coming in, late in the evening, by a husband who has heard her version of what happened, and he sounds tipsy, and I just hang up. Then she calls. Apparently, there's been a big miscommunication. Well, no actually, there's hasn't. You're still not going to have it your way, so fuck off.
I don't take too kindly to threats, you see, she said some dang good fighting words I am not willing to forget. After all, I took care of her son for well over a year, she didn't complain then. I hope she makes all her phone calls, as she attempts to hang my daycare high. I wish her well in all her endeavors, but I already know, there's no one, not one marshal in the land willing to shut me down over her son's tighty-whiteys.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
And just in case there's any confusion with regards to potty training, or any other rules and procedures I follow at my daycare operation, a "Parent's Handbook" is provided to all clients, via my web page. Here's my policy regarding big boy undies (which this client has broken on several levels)
"When you feel your child is ready for potty training, I ask that you begin this teaching at home. I will follow through and encourage your child while in my care. Please keep in mind that the activity level here can distract your child from responding to an urge to use the potty, more so than at your home. Therefore, I will continue to use diapers or pull-ups until your child can and will announce that he/she must use the bathroom (not just at home, but here, also) and can control his/her bladder and bowels for a few minutes beyond that announcement. When the child has reached this point, training pants may be used.
Do not bring your child in panties or underwear until he/she has naptime and bedtime control established.
I also ask that during toilet learning, the child be dressed in "user-friendly" clothing as much as possible. The best items are shorts and pants with elastic waists, or dresses for girls. Try to avoid really tight clothing, pants with snaps and zippers, and overalls as often as you can. Your child will want to help pull pants, etc. up and down, plus clothing with too many "gadgets" makes it harder to get the child on the potty in time."
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