The one where the nanny didn't quit

(Note: Although Postcards from the Mothership is now live at http://danigirl.ca/blog, I'm continuing to cross-post for a couple of weeks until I get all the kinks out. See the original post at http://danigirl.ca/blog/2007/08/20/the-one-where-the-nanny-didnt-quit/)

***

So, it's the nanny's third day today, and she didn't quit yet. I'm so happy! (Amazing how my standards have dropped, isn't it?)

Seriously, though, even beyond her not quitting, I'm thrilled with the new nanny. The boys ask every day whether Jen and Jordan (her one year old son) are coming today. She brings them to the park; she plays games with them; last Friday, she brought them to her house for the afternoon and they did fingerpainting and came home with home-made, car-shaped cookies. She's got Simon on the potty a couple of times a day. She even emptied the clean dishwasher so she could put the lunch dishes in it. Really, I love her!

I'm not the only one who loves her. Friday night at dinnertime, Tristan had just finished telling us all the fun things they did with Jen that day. He asked if she would be coming back the next day, but I told him that Mummy and Daddy don't have to work on Saturdays or Sundays, so we'd get to spend the whole day together as a family. "And besides," I teased him, "would you rather spend the day with us or with Jen?"

He didn't hesitate nearly long enough before answering, "Jen!" In other circumstances, I might have been peeved, but frankly by this point, I'm happy with that answer.

It's still a little awkward having her in our house, though. We're making up rules as we go along, because I hadn't really thought any of this through. I don't know if I should leave a list of suggested lunches for the boys, based on that week's trip to the grocery store, or just let her root through the cupboards and make it up based on what she finds. I'm also not sure whether I should be buying stuff for her to make lunch for herself.

I was also thinking about leaving suggestions for activities, and leaving her our family membership card for the Farm and the Science museum. If it were me, we'd be going to the library, and playgroups, to parks in other neighbourhoods - anything to kill daylight! - but I don't want to overwhelm her. I'm not sure I'd want to be doing a lot of field trips by myself with a 1, 3 and 5 year old!

So, day three and all is well on the daycare front. It's going to nearly break us financially (her pay is barely $100 less a week than Beloved earns) but at least for the next year I'm willing to pay that price. Do you think this is finally the good karma I've earned after more than half a year of dreadful experiences?

Episode 156 of the daycare saga: the one with the nanny

What's that, you say? You're dying for another long, rambly post to update you on the endless saga of our search for quality, affordable child care? Far be it from me to deny you the joy of a post like that.

So. Last time you saw our heroine, she had recently had the rug yanked out from under her by the judgemental and unprofessional caregiver who quit by leaving a note in the mailbox after a mere 14 hours with Tristan and Simon, and she had recommenced the time-consuming and exhausting search for child care. (I'm switching back to first person now. The third-person thing was getting rather tedious.)

In the past two and a half weeks (good gravy, has it only been 2.5 weeks?) I've posted four new online classifieds and answered more than twenty of them myself. I've called daycare centres and home-care agencies. I've called phone numbers from posters taped to the mailbox and the community bulletin board at the grocery store. I've handed my business card out to strangers I've stopped in the park and at Tristan's school, after sidling casually up to them and engaging them in conversations that usually go something like, "Hey, great weather we're having, eh? So, do you know any child care providers with open spaces for a 3 and 5 year old?"

I've asked other mothers at my bus stop, asked neighbours over the back fence, and even had an old friend that I ran into in the grocery store - who happens to run her own home daycare - asking around for me. For a relatively shy person, I've walked up to a whole hell of a lot of strangers and started talking to them. I have, in short, been working the hell out of the surprisingly solid network of parents, friends, childcare providers and strangers.

Much as I've tried to shield them from the conversations going on, the boys are aware that Joanne won't be their caregiver anymore and neither will Bobbie. Tristan has taken to evaluating every adult as a potential caregiver, and has broken my heart a few times by pulling me aside and whispering, "Can {so and so} be our new caregiver?" He has shown a preference for people with swimming pools, extensive toy collections, and other 5 and 6 year old boys with whom he can play.

We've decided to try something new this time around. We're going with - as I have alluded to recently - a live-out nanny. We interviewed someone last week, and although I really liked her, what we could afford was less than what she was hoping to make. I made her an offer last week, and she came back with a counteroffer a few days ago. After much soul-searching and wringing of hands, I told her we simply couldn't afford that much, and she came back with a reduced counteroffer, and I simply couldn't say no again. She hasn't gotten back to me since I accepted her counteroffer, but I'm starting to relax into the idea that it will all work out.

We're going to be paying her $382.50 a week, which is more than $100 more a week (ouch!) than we are currently paying. BUT, she has a car and is willing to shuttle Simon back and forth to nursery school three days a week while juggling the same-time pick-up and drop-off of Tristan. It's a hassle, but gives her three days a week with a two-hour midafternoon break. She has a 9 month-old son of her own, and he's the sweetest, gurgliest, chubbiest 9 month-old I've seen since mine were that age.

Having a nanny is a whole new frontier in paperwork, though. She's considered an employee and I'm the employer, so I have to register a payroll account and deduct and remit the payroll taxes and workers' comp premiums and all that stuff. Gah! Good thing I at least know a little bit about this stuff from all the years I worked in the tax centre.

If any of you have any experience or advice about the legalities of hiring a live-out nanny (or "domestic worker" in government parlance) I'd appreciate your insight. I'm drawing up a contract that covers vacation time, stat days, sick time, working hours and the usual. And no, the irony has not escaped me that back in February I balked at half this stuff when looking for a child care provider and now I'm offering more benefits AND more money than I refused back then. But at least she is my employee now and that gives me some control over the conditions of employment - which means at the very least that she can't take on extra kids without involving me in the decision. I'm a little weirded out by her being in my house with my kids when I'm not there - and potentially when I am, most of all. A new adventure for all of us, I guess.

And the money. Oy. In Canada, you can deduct $7000 per child (younger than 7) against your income for tax purposes. Her annual salary will be just shy of $20K, which is $6K MORE than the annual child care deduction limit - and that's not even considering the $155 a month for Simon's nursery school "tuition." Not to mention the fact that it's damn near 2/3 of Beloved's annual salary last year.

We've decided to suck it up for this year. It will be tight, but my heart was so set on this nursery school for Simon and I am frankly feeling so burned by the whole child care search that if we have to make due on a tight budget for a year we can. A little over a year from now, Tristan will be in school full time and Simon will start morning JK at public school and we can re-evaluate everything then. And of course, our lives could be changing considerably this February - but I'm not counting any of those chickens just yet.

Stay tuned - you know there's more to come.

Another twist of the knife

I just spent 30 minutes transcribing the infamous letter, delivered surreptitiously under cover of night, to share with you. (No, I haven't posted it yet. I'm still pondering how wise a decision it is to publish it.) The whole time, I could hear the boys above in their beds, playing and talking and generally avoiding going to sleep.

Tristan finally called down the stairs to me. "Mommy," he said in his serious voice. "We changed our minds. We want to go back to Bobbie's house." The former caregiver, the one who no doubt loved the boys, but with whom I had enough niggling concerns that I launched myself down the road of finding a new caregiver lo these many months ago.

Now I'm really torn. There were valid reasons I wanted to change caregivers. But I'm wondering if maybe my expectations were too high. Should I take the easy road and go back to her? We saw her in the schoolyard today at JK pick-up and she came straight up to me and gave me a hug before talking to the boys. She's been a part of our lives so long, and just seeing her at the school leaves a lump in my throat... especially now as I dread the inevitable question of how it's going with the new caregiver. It's a very small community, and no doubt if I start sending out word that I'm looking for a new caregiver it will really hurt her that we didn't at least try to approach her to see if she would take us back. Bad enough we rejected her once, but potentially devastating that we didn't go back to her when it didn't work out in the very first week... the last thing in the world I want to do is hurt her feelings.

I talked to both boys for a while just now, promising that at the least we would go back to Bobbie's house for a playdate soon. Simon, who every single day said, "I don't want to go to Bobbie's house" said to me tonight, "I miss my buddies. I want to go back, please."

And I didn't think my heart could break any more over this wretched, wretched situation.

I spoke to one agency and left a message with another, and the first agency had absolutely no caregivers in our school zone. I posted half a dozen responses to bulletin boards, and have had a brief e-mail conversation with someone who might be interested in sharing her nanny. It seems half the city of Ottawa is now looking out to help us find a caregiver. Could the answer be as simple as what I had just a week ago? Were my expectations too high? Am I considering settling because I'm still reeling from this whole experience? Does a good heart and unadulterated love count for more than lax discipline, too much TV and rowdy kids?

Twice I asked Tristan how he felt about going back, and twice he said he would like a new caregiver. Is he saying he wants to go back to Bobbie because he thinks thats what I want him to say? Or has he really changed his mind?

Could someone please tell me what the right answer is? I'm getting mighty tired of flailing around in the dark on this one.

She quit

I lay in bed for quite a while this morning, trying to force myself to go back to sleep, but I couldn't quiet the voices that have been harranguing me all weekend, so I gave in and got up.

I opened the front door to get the morning newspaper and saw an envelope sticking out of the mailbox. The caregiver had snuck by in the night and left a letter informing us she "felt it necessary to terminate our contract effective immediately." And a cheque refunding our deposit.

I am furious. I'm annoyed as hell about the actual quitting, but I can't say I didn't see it coming. But I am shaking with hurt fury at the cowardly way she went about this without even talking to me. She says her reasons are "Tristan and Simon need much more care than I can give them without jeopardizing the other children, the lack of communication from both you and [Beloved], and the safety issues that have arisen."

And by lack of communication I wonder if she meant the one phone call on Tuesday and two on Thursday I made, checking to see if everything was okay? Ugh. "Children do not learn respect and rules overnight, rather it is a continuous process." She says I was not up front with her because I didn't tell her that Tristan had finished 10 days of antibiotics the night before her first day with them and it was a safety issue and I should have told her. WTF?

There is, of course, absolutely nothing I can do. I'm certainly not going to force her to take my kids for two weeks to honour our 'contract' when she's behaving like this. I'm torn - I feel like there should be some sort of consequence, that I should at the very least give her an earful; but, there is nothing to be gained there.

So off I go to find a new caregiver. Again. I'll at least have to take Tuesday, probably Thursday as well, off work because Beloved is in exam season. Thank small mercies that this happened now instead of in January, and that in a week or two at least he'll be able to stay home with them full time until we find someone.

I told Tristan that Joanne couldn't take care of kids anymore, and asked him if he'd rather go to a new caregiver or back to his old caregiver. At least I know his old caregiver loved both boys, even if I had some concerns about the other stuff and I was willing to eat whatever crow I had to and approach her again. But Tristan said he would like a new caregiver, bless his heart. How can I argue with that?

Oh, and remember the nursery school, the one I was so excited about? Yah, the chances of me actually being able to find someone who will shuttle Tristan to and from school and Simon to and from nursery school? What do you figure my odds are on that one?

Excuse me, I have to go start searching the daycare listings. Staring from scratch. Again.

Just when you thought the daycare thing was resolved...

Remember that new caregiver? The one that took me four months to find, the one I waited more than two months for the boys to start, the one who was 'ideal' and was going to help us send Simon to nursery school?

She wants to quit. Well, she has 'serious reservations' after spending two whole days with my boys. I could cry.

I knew Tuesday had been a rough day. Simon was upset (he cried for the best part of an hour after Beloved left) and he was a real handful after I brought him home. He simply didn't handle the transition nearly as well as I had hoped and expected.

But this morning, Beloved and I were floored when the new caregiver said if she didn't see some improvement by the end of the day today (only the second day she's seen them), she might have to 'reconsider.' When I called her this morning, she had a laundry list of concerns, most of them boiling down to the boys being, well, boys. She felt they were not listening to her, were being too rambunctious, kept asking for TV and video games. She kept talking about how important it was to get a good 'fit'.

I called again this afternoon, and while she had another laundry list of concerns, she's given us a reprieve of sorts, saying she never makes a decision without thinking about it and that she would 'see how it goes after the weekend.' Not sure exactly what this means, except that I get to keep this gnawing lump of anxiety near to my heart for the duration of the long weekend now.

I'm trying not to be bitter, I really am. I get that she's concerned because the boys aren't listening to her as well as she'd like, but to me it's her job to command that respect. They're coming from a day care environment where they had too much freedom, in my opinion, which is why we changed in the first place. And while I'm the first to admit that my boys are not angels, I have a hard time swallowing the fact that they are the bad influence that she seems to be insinuating.

I could refute her criticisms and concerns on a point-by-point basis, but to me it basically boils down to the fact that they need to respect her authority and get used to her style - two things that it will take more than two days to resolve. I'm just flabbergasted that she's being so quick to consider bailing out on me. While of course I would rather she be open with me from the start, I can't help but think this is a huge overreaction on her part. I'm willing to listen to her concerns and to work on the behaviours that are most troubling to her (which seem to revolve around listening and helping to clean up), but it will still take me more than four days to get things turned around.

It's hard not to take this whole thing personally. Aside from the nauseating idea of potentially losing the nursery school connection and having to start the whole day care search over again from scratch, I don't take criticism well on the best of days - but I am especially thin-skinned when it comes to my boys, and my parenting skills.

I can't help but compare this to when we got called in by Tristan's teacher after only eight days last September. She too had concerns about Tristan's behaviour that she wanted to bring to our attention - and we worked with her to improve the situation. The irony is that I wouldn't be surprised to hear he's now one of her favourite students; she's always very favourable to him now and she hasn't expressed a single concern since then.

Bad enough this is undermining my confidence in my choice of a caregiver, but now I'm beginning to wonder if I'm one of those parents who are oblivious to the hellions they are raising. I just want to crawl under my desk and cry...

A new chapter in the caregiver saga

Today is the boys' first day with their new caregiver. I think I can finally let go of this deep, anxious breath I've been holding for the past three months or so.

It's been a melancholy couple of weeks, saying good-bye to our other care provider. She has been so gracious about the whole thing that I've been second-guessing myself for the last month since we told her that we would be switching. On the boys' last day with her last week, she bought them each a little gift, and a little something for us, too, and she gave us a thank-you card thanking us for trusting her with our precious treasure. She's a class act, that one.

I was in the middle of composing this post and about to note how well the boys are taking the transition when Beloved called and said Simon is now expressing anxiety about facing the new daycare by himself (Tristan will be in school this morning and joining Simon at lunch time.) My kids are generally pretty good with transition - much more so than me! - and I'm sure he'll be fine once he gets there. I feel for him, though. Bobbie is the only caregiver he's ever known, and even though we've spent a while with Joanne and her kids in the last little while getting to know them, change is always at least a little bit scary.

Tempering my guilty regret of the last few days has been exciting news from the new caregiver. When we first spoke, she had mentioned the fact that her three-year-old daughter would be attending nursery school in the fall, and if I wanted, she could bring Simon at the same time. I have always wanted to have the boys in some sort of preschool program, but up to now it has just been too logistically daunting. Last week, Joanne called and said that there was one space available in the afternoon class, if we wanted to register Simon.

I am absurdly excited about this, and jumped at the chance. If I could have, I would have registered Simon for JK this fall; I think he's more than ready. He was nearly beside himself with excitement when I told him that in September, Tristan will be going to afternoon kindergarten and he'll be going to his own big-boy school. Joanne said it's an excellent program with arts and crafts, beginner science, music and - be still my heart - pageants. (I've been just a little bit disappointed by the lack of pageants during Tristan's first year of school. Bring on the pageants!)

Now I'm all choked up at the idea of both of my boys being in school. What happened to my babies? Can we slow this whole thing down just a little bit? From soothers to school registration in the same week - I'm not ready!

Post script - the conversation

I wanted to tell you that I finally managed to find enough courage to call our daycare provider and talk to her on the weekend, but I feel sad and melancholy about it now. It's surprisingly hard to talk about it.

I had called her Sunday morning with the intention of meeting up with her later in the day, but she was getting ready to go out for the day and before I knew it I was spewing everything into the phone. While I managed to hit on all my salient points - she's a great person and we were priviledged to have her caring for the boys for four years; it's not about her so much as the circumstances of too many kids, one troublesome kid in particular and the fact that she's geographically just a little bit too far away for easy convenience now that Beloved will be taking on more and more courses and working later more frequently - while I know I managed to say all of this eventually, it was with a complete lack of grace or eloquence.

She listened rather quietly while I rambled for a while, and said she wished we had brought up more of this earlier (which twisted a little knife of guilt in my heart - she's right, of course, but I didn't feel like I had a lot of right to be dictating her business to her and I am in the end a conflict-averse coward). She also said the key personality with whom I was having the trouble would be leaving at the end of June, and that made me feel really bad, too.

In the end, though, she was very graceful and told me that she would only consent to any of this if she could maintain contact with the boys and see them regularly - which is of course the point at which my chest and throat seized up and my eyes started to leak. Barely able to squeeze out any more words, I told her that I was near tears and had to go but that I was sorry, and grateful, and sorry again. I barely hung up the phone before bursting - surprise - into noisy, messy sobs.

My knee-jerk reaction was fear -again - that I was making a huge mistake. The fear of the unknown is a terrible, crippling monster. It took a long, hot shower and close to an hour before I could again remember all the things that brought me to this point in the first place. But I'm still a little numb with fear that we've made the wrong choice, that we're being greedy and unrealistic in our expectations, that we've underestimated how good we have had it and that we're in for a rude awakening. Time and only time will answer that question.

When Beloved dropped off the boys yesterday morning, she and he pretended blissful ignorace of my inelegant call the day before. When I picked them up, it seemed we too were going to follow that pattern. At the last minute, with both boys outside and one foot out the door myself, I turned briefly back to her and said, "I'm really sorry about yesterday, about all of this. I really meant it when I said we've been lucky to have you." She replied by insisting that we stay in contact, because she'll miss the boys. After a brief hug and more inane mutterings on my part about how much we like her, I managed to get out onto the porch before I started crying again.

They never tell you when you are glowing and blissfully round of belly, busy gestating your first baby, how many times your heart will be broken by this mothering thing. In the most unexpected of ways.

Breaking up is hard to do

It's been a while since I talked about my daycare situation. The good news is we found someone we really like, close to home, with reasonable rates and summertime flexibility. I'm so so so happy with her, and can't wait to move the boys over there. They will start on May 14, and she is willing to take them two days a week through the summer, just as I had originally hoped, and then move to full time care when Beloved's summer ends in mid-August. All that searching, the anxiety and the frustration, seem to have been worthwhile. She is *exactly* the caregiver I was looking for, and I've only not mentioned it before now because the last two times I thought I had found 'the one' it fell through and I didn't want to jinx this in any way.

That, of course, leads me to the bad news. I have to tell the boys' current caregiver that I'm taking them out of her care. I've been dreading it for a month now, and I figure it's only right to give her a month of notice before we end the relationship. It is a relationship - that's what makes this so hard. It's not like firing the cleaning lady, or going to a new hairdresser - both of which are painful experiences for me. Bobbie has been part of our extended family for almost four years, and I have no idea how to tell her that her services are no longer required.

I know what I want to tell her; it's the how that's tripping me up. I want to tell her that we decided to change care providers because of a few factors, very few of which have to do with her personally. I am very fond of her, as are the boys. But there are just so many kids at her place that I feel the boys are in danger of being lost in the shuffle. I want to tell her that my main concern is what they are picking up from the other kids, especially one in particular that has started attending the day care in the last few months. I want to tell her that it's about the sheer quantity of kids, and that if we could go back to it just being her boys and my boys, like it was in the beginning (Tristan was the first child she took on) then I would happily leave the boys with her.

But I'm a coward. I don't think I could tell her all this face-to-face without crying, and I especially don't want to do it with a dozen kids crawling all over both of us, the way it usually is when we pick up or drop off the boys. I could call her on the phone, I suppose. Myself, I'm inclined to write a letter. I've always been a letter writer - when it's really important, I like to have the time to organize my thoughts on paper and get everything out uninterrupted. But, I know it might seem cold to someone who doesn't share that instinct, to get something as impersonal as a letter for something like this.

What do you think? How would you handle it, or how would you want to be informed if you were the caregiver? I'm terrible at confrontation, terrified of conflict. Am I making too much of this? It is, after all, a business relationship - just an excruciatingly painful one. Feels more like a breakup than a firing.

Is it wrong to just print out the relevant pages from blog and give give them to her? Okay, so maybe that's not the best plan - but I've been worrying this for a month and still don't have a plan. Have you been there? I'd appreciate your thoughts and insight - as always!

A Just Post Award

Just a quick post to say a very belated thanks to Mad Hatter and Jen at One Plus Two were kind enough to award me one of February's Just Post Awards for my Code Blue for Daycare rant.

I'm absurdly pleased by this. And be warned, I'm also encouraged. Just this morning, I choked on reading in the Citizen that Stephen Harper was quoted as telling party supporters this weekend, "We must always think first of the unspoken interests of millions of working families."

It's a lovely platitude, but Harper's policies have been anything but working-family friendly. First, the universal child care benefit, which is neither universal nor child care. Now, rustlings in the wind that they are considering income splitting for families. I could go on, but I don't want to sully this proud moment with another rant.

Instead, just a simple thank you to Mad Hatter and Jen and all the people who participate in the Just Post movement every month. Get on over to their blogs and take a look at some of the excellent posts from this month alone. It will do you good.

Pressure

This working and mothering thing? Not so easy.

Okay, so most of the time, we achieve a reasonable balance. I admit, my job is easy on the family in that I work early hours, am home most days by 4:30, and almost never work overtime.

This week? Flaming exception. Between last Tuesday and yesterday, I put in more than 18 hours of overtime, including a marathon 12 hour stretch on Sunday.

There was a considerable amount of mommy-guilt on my part, being away from the family that much, but with a remarkably small amount of grumbling, Beloved picked up the slack. Dinners were made, nobody ran out of underwear, and while the cupboards are now stocked with Lucky Charms and Bear Paws and Oreos instead of, say, things we can actually eat for dinner and the house looks like warring tribes pitched a four-day battle in it, we made it through the worst of it. I've been loving the work I am doing, and really enjoying the challenge of crisis communications.

Yesterday, I had to drop everything on the backs of my colleagues because Tristan spiked a fever so bad we were doing the two-hour rotation of Motrin and Tylenol and I had to stay home with him.

His fever isn't entirely better today, so Beloved and I played a round of "why my work is more important than your work." In the end, I gave up and called the caregiver and asked her if Tristan could come, with the fever. She said of course, I hung up the phone and promptly burst into tears. This is the caregiver we are letting go. I'm afraid I'm making a mistake. I should be home with Tristan when he's sick. I have a crapload of work to do today, and there's no sign of it letting up for the next week at least, maybe two.

Did I mention my in-laws are on their way for a two-day visit and will arrive in time for dinner?

Edited to add: the caregiver called shortly after lunch, saying Tristan was crying and asking for me. Within 10 minutes, I was on my way, thanks in no small part to the help of my boss, who finds more ways to endear herself to me each day. By the time we got home an hour later, he was - of course - feeling better. The boys are currently watching Toy Story 2 and eating popcorn, calling each other Captain Underpants and Doctor Diaper.

Code blue for daycare

Please bear with me while I use this little soap-box of mine for a full-on rant about daycare.

As you know, I’ve been making a concerted effort for the last seven weeks to find acceptable daycare for my boys.

I have looked into:

* Private in-home care.
* Licensed in-home care.
* Nanny-sharing.
* Licensed daycare centre.
* School-age childcare program.

I have exchanged at least one e-mail or telephone call with sixteen potential care providers. I have interviewed four caregivers. I have applied to a centralized waiting list for licensed care in the city of Ottawa. I have applied to the waiting list for the daycare centre in my neighbourhood. I have spoken to or exchanged e-mails with three licensed agencies for home-care providers. I have added my boys’ names to the waiting list for the school-age after-school care program affiliated with their school for which Simon will not be eligible until the year 2010 when he is in Grade 1. I have spoken to two local elementary schools, hoping they might have some leads.

I still have nothing arranged. I have a few ‘maybes’, one of which is out of my price range, one of which make me feel like I am settling for ‘good enough’ when good enough isn’t nearly good enough for the treasure that is my boys, and one that has so many rules and conditions that I’m nervous to commit to them.

You know how long the waiting list is for the daycare centre in my neighbourhood? Three years. It’s much longer for me, someone who pays ‘full fees’, as opposed to someone who gets a subsidized spot, because they have roughly two subsidized spots for every full-fee spot. So the people willing and able to pay more wait longer. Not that I begrudge anyone their subsidized spot. I’d be happy enough to pay the fees, at $77 a day for both boys, but still can’t get a spot and won’t be able to for the foreseeable future.

One year after taking power, Canada’s New Government ™ has done nothing beyond placating parents with a monthly $100 placebo that pretends to be a meaningful commitment to improving access to child care. A monthly placebo that, as I previously mentioned, does not even cover the INCREASE in daycare fees that I can expect on a WEEKLY basis. And yes, those capital letters do mean I’m shouting, because I’ve worked myself up to a pretty good lather by this point.

*breathe*
*breathe*
*breathe*

When Stephen Harper’s Tories took office a year ago, they dismantled a $5 billion federal-provincial collaboration on child care. According to this article, federal funding for child care will plummet to $250M in the next fiscal year, from $1.2 billion.

That’s more than a 75% reduction, in a single year folks.

On the web site for the universal child care benefit, the $100/month pre-tax bribe payment that was part of Harper’s election campaign, there’s a widget that tells you to “Tell your family and friends about the choice, support and spaces provided by Canada's Universal Child Care Plan.” So that’s what I’m doing. I’m telling you that in my humble opinion, Canada's Universal Child Care Plan sucks eggs. The ‘system’ is broken.

Don’t believe me? Check out what the folks at Code Blue for Childcare, a national non-profit organization dedicated to promoting accessible, quality child care have to say. They recently gave the government a failing grade in child care on the first anniversary of the government coming in to power.

(Click through and you can add your name to the ‘report card’ if you agree.)

I have to say, I love this comment from the ‘report card’: “Stephen [Harper] has some trouble understanding basic concepts. His major term project, the Universal Child Care Plan, is not child care. It’s also not universal and not a plan.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Even if I find Mary Poppins tomorrow, and she’s willing to take care of my boys for the sheer bliss of their exquisite companionship, you’ll still be hearing more from me on this issue. It isn’t about one woman’s frustrating search for quality child care anymore.

It’s personal, and yet it’s so much more.

I could cry...

Just got an e-mail from the woman I thought was "the one", the ideal but expensive child care provider.

She changed her mind. She doesn't want to reduce her rates from $40/day per boy. I simply can't afford that kind of increase. Not only is it $120 to $150 more PER WEEK than I'm currently paying, but it's $60 to $75 more per week than it would cost for a licensed home care or institutional daycare spot. That's a hell of a lot of money.

I can't stand that it's become about the money, but I just don't think I can swing it. If she had been okay with $70/day, we could have barely made it, but an extra $50/week out of my price range is a lot.

Isn't it?

Crap, I just don't know anymore.

Oh no, not another post about daycare!

We seem to have a few running themes around here these days.

Healthy eating / weight loss? Covered that yesterday.

Dead iPod? Replacement for the DOA replacement iPod should arrive today.

And what was that other one? Oh right. Daycare.

Thanks, a little after the fact, for your feedback on my post last week. I’ve spoken to a LOT of caregivers, and people who use caregivers, this week, and have come to realize a few things. First, rates average $35/day for full-time care around here. Second, almost all caregivers now have contracts that stipulate things like paid statutory holidays and paid vacations. Third, you get what you pay for.

I looked into a lot of options this past week. I applied to three home daycare agencies and registered with the City of Ottawa's centralized waiting list for licensed child care. I applied to two daycare centres. I posted an ad and spoke to a woman about nanny sharing. I spoke to a woman recently owned a pizza shop and when that went bankrupt decided to open a home daycare. I got an e-mail from a woman who offered daycare in my home or hers, whose name appears in Cyrillic characters on her e-mail address and whose e-mail address domain is .ru (I don't actually have a problem with that; it was just interesting.) And, I brought the boys to meet two potential caregivers and their families.

I think (she said tentatively) I found a keeper. I connected with her on a personal level right away, but most importantly, I loved how she interacted with the boys. I also agree with her philosophy on child care, which she included in her 12 page parent handbook. (!) Her conditions are quite reasonable, now that I've realized what the norms are around here. She asks for two weeks paid vacation, plus five sick days to use at her discretion. Her sickness policy is similar to what I posted last week, but less stringent.

She's open to the idea of trying to find someone to take the boys' space for the summer, if it works out, and to take a 'wait and see' approach to see if her finances permit us dropping down to a day or two a week instead. The thing that I liked most about her, after her interactions with the boys, is her openness to negotiate while still protecting her own interests.

The boys have also approved of her. Simon didn't want to leave last night after our visit (although I'm sure the new golden doodle puppy had a lot to do with that!) and when I asked Tristan if he'd like to go to her house for daycare, he responded with an enthusiastic yes.

There were only two small problems, and I think we can work through them.

First, her rates are the highest of any caregiver I've talked to. I told her my current rates, and we negotiated a little bit to arrive at $35/day per boy, for a total of $70/day (as compared to the $50/day I'm paying now.) It's a little steep, and finding an extra $80 to 100 in the budget each week won't be easy, but I am pretty sure she will be worth it. I guess I'll just have to keep cleaning my own toilets, instead of hiring that cleaning lady I've been considering.

(I can't help myself, I have to point out that the Harper "beer and popcorn" money will only cover half of the increase to our monthly daycare expenses. And you wonder why I say it's ridiculously inadequate. And that's pre-tax. In fact, it will probably net out to be less than a quarter of the increase in fees. "Provides choice, support and spaces" my ass.)

Second problem is that she is only moving to my neighbourhood in May. Not a huge problem, as I'm not in a pinch for day care and we can wait, but if we are making the commitment to change, I'd prefer to just get on with it, especially after the disappointment we went through the last time I thought we had found the perfect caregiver and she changed her mind.

So, the news is trending toward good. I still have to check her references, and do the police check thing, and sign a contract, and wait 12 weeks until she actually starts taking care of the boys. I'm not breathing any sighs of relief just yet. And I still have to go through the hell of talking to our current care provider and telling her that we're leaving. But it's looking hopeful. Keep your fingers crossed for us!

More daycare angst

So. Daycare.

Last you heard from our intrepid heroine, she had committed to finding new care for her boys. Down but not out, she put up ads, sent out feelers and tried to connect with potential new caregivers.

And promptly skittered back into her shell, yelping like a kicked poodle.

I need a perspective check. I think maybe that despite the way-too-many-kids thing, we might have been spoiled with the flexibility of our current caregiver. Can I please ask what you think of these kinds of 'rules' in a daycare contract for a home daycare?

• 3 weeks paid holidays for her, PLUS regular pay when we're on holidays or any time kids aren't in care as regularly scheduled.
• paid stat holidays (daycare is closed on those days) PLUS paid lieu day if the stat falls on a weekend.
• if we want to continue our current routine of dropping down to one day a week care in the summer, we still have to pay for 2.5 days, her weekly minimum. Or, we have to quit in June and find a new provider in September.
• If your child has a runny nose, please keep your child home. If your child has vomited within 48 hours, keep your child home. A medical certificate required to re-enter care after pink-eye.
• If your child becomes sick, pick-up is expected within one hour.
• Full time is 5 hours a day or more, and costs $35/day. Part time costs $30/day. After school care for full-time students is $20/day.

I keep waffling. I get that a daycare provider is running a business and has to protect herself, but I also feel like I'm being gouged when I read some of this stuff. The idea of paying for the whole summer just to keep continuity for the boys when they'll be home with Beloved most of the time (who, incidentally, is not getting paid, therefore we're paying for care we aren't using with reduced income) is painful. The idea of paying for her vacation PLUS paying someone else to cover off the time is also painful.

And you wonder why I ranted when Stephen Harper dismantled the Liberals' plans for daycare reform.

What do you think? Was I just spoiled before? Can you tell me if this is the norm, or will I find more flexibility if I keep looking?

Your daily serving of maternal guilt

It's been at least a week since I posted about working mother guilt. Surely we're due for more angst?

Poor Simon. He and Tristan were horsing around just before bedtime, and Tristan more or less took him out at the knees, completely by accident. Simon cried for a few minutes, but not with that heart-stopping urgent cry of pain that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up and gives you little doubt that you're about to reaquaint yourself with the local health-care facilities.

He was easily comforted by Beloved, but started crying again when he tried to take his weight on the injured leg. We called a boo-boo bunny into service, then spent 20 minutes or so playing various 'games' trying to figure out the extent, and even the location of the injury. Even though he was obviously favouring the sore leg, and even wobbling a bit when he put his weight on it, he could jump on both feet and stand on the sore leg while holding my hand, and he climbed the stairs without complaint.

Trying to figure out the severity of an injury to a stoic three year old is a little bit like trying to read the mind of a crazy person. The terms of reference keep shifting. I touch his knee and ask, "Does it hurt here?" and he says no. I touch his ankle, his shin, and his toes and ask, "Does it hurt here?" and he says no. I touch his knee again and ask, "Does it hurt here?" and he says yes. I touch his ankle and ask, "Does it hurt here?" and he says, with obvious expiration of patience, "Mommy, stop it!"

This morning, he is still favouring it but doesn't cry when he walks on it. I just called Beloved at home, as he has the boys for two hours between when I leave and when they leave for school and daycare, and he says Simon seems fine now, and he'll have the daycare provider call me if she notices any trouble. There's no bruising, no swelling. We even spoke to a nurse at TeleHealth Ontario this morning, and although she recommended we see a doctor, I'm trusting Beloved's assessment that he's fine, not complaining, not hurting, and so we'll wait and see how it is in a couple of hours.

This is the part about working and mothering I hate. After almost two years back in the office, I still feel horrendous guilt at having to choose between an overflowing plate of responsibilities at work and the pull of my possibly-hurting baby. I hate having to choose between competing responsibilities, and I hate having to leave the assessment of Simon's condition to anybody else - daycare provider or Beloved. Mostly, though, I hate that I'm here at work instead of at home while I'm writing this.

Sigh.

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.

Sigh.

On changing child care providers

And you thought I'd gotten over the angst-ridden navel-gazing that has predominated the past month or so. Ha, I mock your naivité. In my world, there is ALWAYS something else over which to fret.

I think I might be in the market for a new child care provider.

Our decision to consider changing (could I possible hedge any more?) isn't precipitated on anything cataclysmic, which almost makes it harder. The boys love their current care provider so much they call her 'auntie'. They've been with her since Tristan was 16 months old, and way back then Tristan was the only child in her care. But lately, it seems like every month there are new kids there. She has two of her own, both school-age, plus my two (although Tristan is in school half time), plus two more preschool boys, plus one or two toddlers, and a handful of other kids under six on a rotating basis. A lot of them are part-time or kids of shift workers, so they're not all there all the time, but the house always seems full to capacity. She has a helper, but still - that's a crazy amount of kids. There's one new kid in particular who is rambunctious and rough, and the boys complain about him regularly. This week, he broke one of Tristan's new Christmas toys, and the boys have said he likes to run into them and knock them down. Not an ideal situation.

Last August, the caregiver took a two week vacation and we had to find substitute care. Both Tristan and Simon still talk longingly about when they went to Tanya's house, and how much they liked her. Unfortunately, she only had openings for the summer, and is too far from us to consider for regular care. However, I find this above everything else very telling. It was a week and a half over five months ago, and they still ask about her.

But - and, isn't there always a 'but'? - my fear of change is banging a gong of alarm at the idea of finding a new caregiver. What if a new caregiver isn't as flexible, or as loving, or as patient? What if we make a really bad choice and she's an axe murderer, or she lets them watch Barney?

But then, cries the barely-repressed optimist, maybe Mary Poppins is just around the corner, waiting with cuddles and crafts and nutritious meals for two loveable boys to complete her otherwise perfect life. Hey, it could happen!

Most of my friends have struggled with daycare, going through several providers and even being stuck without anyone and having to miss work to cover off, which makes me even more leery to risk our current stable, if not ideal, arrangement. It's the old "devil you know versus the devil you don't" connundrum.

And it's hard to find the perfect daycare provider when you are forced into it because you change neighbourhoods, or your caregiver closes up shop, or something like that. But to willfully bring on the experience of not only searching for the right caregiver, but then making the transition and then learning to live with the peccadilloes of another person taking care of your most precious possession... ugh. I must be crazy to even think about it.

But I can no longer ignore the whispers of concern from my gut. Over the last several months, I've struggled to decide whether the idea of change was worse than the idea of stasis, and the accumulated weight of many small concerns has finally tipped the scales far enough that I'm tentatively looking for a new care provider. I've put up ads on two popular free online services, and had a few responses already. At least I have the luxury of being able to take my time and find what is hopefully a perfect fit.

Hey, at the very least I can milk the hell out of this for some good blog fodder, right?

The class Christmas party

Sometimes, I worry about silly things for no reason. I can work myself into a pretty good lather over them, too. (Stunning revelation, no?)

For the better part of a week, I've been angsting over Tristan's class Christmas party. The angst reached a fever pitch last night, with me near tears in the dollar store. I was having a massive inadequacy attack, worried that all the other mothers would be sending Martha-esque frosted snowman cupcakes and stained glass candycane cookies, while my best effort was some popcorn and pretzels in a holiday-themed tin.

My anxiety was ratcheted even further into the stratosphere by the fact that I had volunteered and been accepted to be one of the special mom helpers for the day. Not only would I be sending a treat unworthy of the other class mothers, but I'd get to see it all live and in-person.

(The volunteer thing itself has layers upon layers of misery and guilt woven into it. I continue to feel disconnected from Tristan's school because I neither drop him off - Beloved does that - nor pick him up. The guilt, oh the guilt, of being a working mother. I ply Beloved with questions to gauge Tristan's interactions with the other kids, his opinions of the other parents, his thoughts on the teachers, and he generally shrugs nonchalantly and says "I dunno, fine I guess," to every question I ask. Further, a not-insubstantial part of my joy at being pregnant was the whole year of maternity leave, where I envisioned myself able to drop off Tristan regularly, and even volunteer occasionally in his classroom. It was one of the most painful ideas to let go of after the miscarriage. Layers upon layers of misery, I tell you!)

So, ask me how it was... (pause)

WONDERFUL! Oh, what a great morning it was.

I got there early. I either missed or didn't get the notice that said to be there for ten, but the teacher welcomed me to stay for the whole morning. I was a part of circle time, got a preview of their Christmas songs during the last rehearsal, and helped with their printing books. When the other mommies arrived, we helped hand out treats and clean up afterward.

It was great to have insight into Tristan's day and his interactions with the teacher and the other students. I was more worried about his socialization this year than his learning, but I can see he's doing just fine at both. He is neither the quickest nor the slowest, the most obediant nor the least. He does seem a little bit bored, but he was obviously so proud to have me in the class for the day.

I now have a much greater understanding and respect for his relationship with John, the child who has become his best friend. John's parents were sending some mixed signals earlier this year when they complained about an incident with Tristan, which I thought at the time was a ridiculously overprotective reaction on their part.

However, it appears John might have some sort of developmental delay, just a minor one but one that is fairly obvious after just a few minutes of watching him. I find it sweet that Tristan has singled this boy out of all the others to be his friend, but even moreso, I was touched when John was crying and upset and the teacher asked him if having Tristan come and sit by him would be a comfort. John said yes, and immediately settled down once Tristan was there. Tristan spoke to Johnny in a soft and kind voice, reassuring him that he would have a wonderful time once the party started.

I left feeling wonderful about Tristan, about his teacher, and about myself. It was one of those rare touchstone moments, when you get concrete validation that you must be doing something right.

Oh, and the angst about the treats to share? Yes, there was one tray of lovely frosted cookies, and a few goodie bags stuffed by overachieving parents. But I had to laugh as one little girl pulled an unopened bag of potato chips out of her backpack to share, and another a bag of leftover halloween treats. Looks like I'm in good company in the lazy mothering club!

Contracting out

I have exciting news: the cleaning lady starts on Monday. Isn’t that the best news you’ve heard all week?

Beloved and I are not completely in agreement on our need for a cleaning lady. To his credit, he did an admirable job keeping the place tidy (if not spotless) while he was home with the boys during the summer. He insisted we could continue to do the cleaning now that he’s teaching four days out of five, but when I found out I was pregnant it sealed the deal for me. We need a cleaning lady.

We had someone coming in for a couple of months when I first came back to work after my maternity leave with Simon, but Beloved took over the cleaning that summer when he was home and we muddled through the next year or so doing (gasp!) our own cleaning. Or not, and living with the filth.

Beloved’s argument against hiring someone was “we’re not rich,” and I do get where he’s coming from. Not that I’m overly fond of cleaning, and I certainly don’t have issues with the idea of having someone else pick up after me. Please, if I could find someone to chew my food for me I’d pay them for it these days.

We finally compromised, and she won’t be doing a full cleaning, just coming in for two hours every second week to concentrate on sanitizing the bathrooms and kitchen and do whatever else she can get around to. Frankly, aside from the additional cost, the main reason I don’t have her cleaning the whole house is that I’m worried about keeping the place tidy enough for her to clean under the clutter. (How sad is that?)

Now that I’ve gotten Beloved over this hurdle, my next goal is to convince him of the other members I’ll need to complement my personal staff: a chef, a gardener, a personal trainer, a nanny, and a masseuse. Hey, I’m worth it!