A Day Care for Marshall

When Marshall was born, we were given a book called Une garderie pour Mateo. The cute picture book described the challenges that Mateo and his mother faced to find him a day care.

Well, that little work of fiction became our big reality over the summer when we scrambled to find appropriate day care for Marshall. My days on maternity leave were numbered. My return to the work force was looming. Baby needed a happy, safe environment to stay in while I worked. It broke my heart to leave Marshall in the care of someone else--a stranger, of all people. Up until then he had only been babysat three times by trusted family members. He and I were normally stuck like glue.

My father took the news of Marshall's unavoidable entry into day care especially hard. "Did you see that news report about that babysitter in Florida who threw a ball at full force right in the baby's face?" he asked.

"We thought the babysitter was dragging a doll by the arm until we realized that doll was really a child," my mother chimed in.

This wasn't going to be easy. For anybody.

I had heard that finding a decent day-care spot was as easy as finding a last-minute gift at a gas station on Christmas Day. Put differently, it was not easy at all. When I learned that a home day care was opening three kilometres away from my house at $25 a day, I jumped on that opportunity fearing that I wouldn't find anything else. Marshall and I visited and noted that the woman seemed very enthusiastic and sweet, the toys were new and the yard was equipped with swings and slides. Upon our second visit to seal the deal, Jon came along and we met the educator's husband.

"I don't like the look of that husband," Jon grumbled. "Never trust a chiropractor. They crack bones for a living."

So, I kept an eye out for other options. In August, a friend referred me to a woman she had met in the park who ran a home day care within walking distance of our house. Marshall and I went to check it out.

The basement play area was packed with colourful toys. For the moment, the educator cared for a two-year-old girl who got a kick out of styling Marshall's fine hair with a play brush and hairdryer. "She's Asian, you know," she told me. Staring at the sweet little girl with the jet-black hair, I thought that was obvious.

I was sold based on the arts-and-crafts activities that the educator liked to do with her kids. They decorated plates for Mother's Day. They made centerpieces for Christmas. And to kick off the summer season, she invited the mothers over for cosmos and a pool party.

When I phoned her to confirm a place in her day care, I was surprised when she haughtily replied, "Well, it seems as though I have some thinking to do. The little Asian girl's mother (why did she always insist on throwing in the girl's heritage?) has asked me to be her full-time nanny. But come to the park. I'll introduce you to another educator who lives nearby."

Feeling a little desperate to snag a day-care spot for Marshall, I agreed to meet her in the park. By then, my level of respect for the creative educator was plummeting. The frequent comments she made about the little girl ("She's so smart for her age. It's because she's Asian"), among other things, were turning me off. When she saw Marshall in the park, she exclaimed, "Blue eyes, blond hair... what a remarkable race you've created with that baby!" Wait, what was that?

I breathed a sigh of relief when she pointed me to the door of the other day care facility in the neighbourhood. I swooped Marshall out of his swing and into his stroller and we rolled our way to the house. Along the way, I worried over how I was going to approach the day-care worker. As if on cue, a dog ran out from the house and she popped her head out to call him back in. We introduced ourselves and the rest is history.

Marshall's educator is a no-nonsense woman, about five years younger than my mother. She has more than twenty years' experience in the business. Her toy-filled play area is bright and clean and tidy. The children are sweet. They immediately shared their toys with Marshall. Now, I don't think she goes out of her way to make the day-care experience an amazing one. But she keeps my baby safe. She cuddles him when he cries. She feeds him when he's hungry. And he naps for her like a champ, that little booger. (Marshall is notorious for skipping out on naps at our house.)

Knowing that he is safe in his educator's care three days a week while I'm at work reassures me. I'll take that over ambitious art projects any day. Leave the holiday centerpieces to me.