Easy come, easy go
I should have known it wouldn't be so easy.
I posted an online classified ad about looking for daycare for the boys, and one of the first people to respond seemed, on paper at least, perfect. I know, nobody is perfect, but I had a hard time finding anything to complain about with this one. She is closer than my existing daycare, wants a maximum of three kids, and when we met in person, I liked her right away. We met for coffee a week ago Friday at Starbucks, and made arrangements to get the kids together to meet each other yesterday. She e-mailed me mid-week last week to ask if she could bring contracts to sign. I was so relieved and happy to have found someone I could trust, someone I genuinely liked, and someone who was conveniently located. It was all perfect - until I opened my e-mail Sunday morning and found out she crapped out on me.
She said she had only one space left as signed two other contracts, which must have happened after we met because she told me I was the first person she talked to, and she said that going to Tristan's school would mess up the routine of the other kids too much.
I mean, whatever. If you don't want my boys, I really don't want them to be with you. I was - and, quite frankly, continue to be rather pissed. Mostly, though, I'm hugely disappointed. I only realized how deeply relieved I had been to have this taken care of when it came unravelled.
I do have a few positive thoughts. Luckily, I showed an amazing amount of restraint and didn't say anything to our current caregiver. We had told the boys that some friends were coming over to play, but nothing about changing caregivers. And it has become more clear to me than ever that I'm not entirely satisfied with the daycare situation, and that it's worth some extra attention to rectify it. At least now I know.
I've had a few other responses to my ad, but none worth pursing. Not, for example, the one who told me in her contact e-mail that she's just subscribed to the Treehouse cable TV service, so the kids will always have something to watch. Nor the one who lives 15 km from my house in the opposite direction from downtown. Nor the one who stated emphatically, with at least a dozen spelling and grammar mistakes, that she would work only specific hours with no deviation, and would not charge less than a full-time rate for Tristan, even though he is in school part-time.
Labels: Working and mothering