The Daycare Dilemma

Wooooh boy have things been interesting around here as far as Wee 'Burb has been concerned! Last week I alluded to our daycare dilemma.

In early June, I got notice from my daycare provider that she was going to have to have surgery and would be out for at least 6 weeks. Her surgery was scheduled for the end of June!

Last year, this woman was my savior. Tired of paying astronomical prices for infant daycare at a center, a spot opened up in the home daycare across the street. I couldn't believe my luck! A neighbor we knew who already loved my kid, and who also provided everything but diapers. Including formula!!! We figured out we were saving $80 a week.

That figure stayed in our minds for awhile. When I started to realize that Wee 'Burb's development was lagging. When she came home begging for her favorite cartoon, one I had never heard of before in my life. When I realized that Wee 'Burb was the only one not participating in art projects or other curriculum-based items. When the daycare closing at 4:45 meant I had to pick her up every day, couldn't make plans during the evenings.

She was taken care of, she was loved. She went outside twice a day, and I could see she was having a blast. But she was one of 5 kids for one person, and she was the youngest. She was doted on, but I felt maybe not focused on, if that makes sense.

In addition to my suspicions that Wee 'Burb's development wasn't being prioritized (understandably so), there were the constant absences. While I knew the provider had 10 paid days a year, we didn't often get a lot of notice. There was the sump pump disaster, which meant she couldn't go for two days. There were mysterious illnesses (ultimately leading to the aforementioned surgery). Of course I couldn't blame my neighbor, which almost made it more annoying. How can I be mad at a woman whose basement has just flooded for the second or third time in weeks?

But she didn't offer backup care. So we either had to essentially pay two people for one day of care, or I had to quickly rearrange my schedule to have Wee 'Burb home with me.

So, some dissatisfaction was brewing, although I couldn't bring myself to really research other centers because a) I love my neighbor and b) Wee 'Burb loves my neighbor.

But when she approached me about the surgery, I had no choice. There was no way I could keep Wee 'Burb home with me for 6 weeks. To say my current work situation is tenuous is rather like saying Jesse James has a concerning track record with women. I can't afford to have Wee 'Burb yelling "ELMO" on my conference calls right now.

Scott's co-worker recommended a place nearby that had more of a preschool focus. Similar to a Montessori, but without the official label. We went to check it out and to say we fell in love was an understatement.

Along with only 10 other toddlers, with two teachers, Wee 'Burb would learn Spanish twice a week, participate in Music classes the other three. They would spend an hour a day each on gross motor and fine motor skills.

And when the time comes, they would gladly participate in any potty training method we choose.

The kicker? What sealed the deal? Date night.

One night a month, FOR FREE, they would keep my kid until 9 p.m. FOR FREE!

The cost was the problem. $30 more a week is no small deal for us right now. We discussed and debated and then threw up our hands.

Within two weeks of being in this daycare, Wee 'Burb was walking like a pro, climbing stairs, marching in place, trying to sing her ABCs (it goes something like "A B B BEEEE"), and sleeping on a cot (we still have her in a crib at home).

I felt like the choice was made for us. Every instinct told me this was the place for Wee 'Burb.

I thought finding the extra $30 a week was going to be hard. But the worst part? Telling my neighbor.

I brought her flowers and brought Wee 'Burb with me as a cuteness reinforcement. I discovered there's no card titled "Sorry for kicking you while you're down, but we're going another way."

I explained to her about the development issue (she was aware that we had consulted with a physical therapist) and she was so great about it. She admitted she had been considering downsizing or closing. And so far I think the relationship has been just fine.

Every day I get a report of Wee 'Burb's progress at her new daycare. She's playing dress-up, excelling at Simon Says, even learning about hula hoops. I know I made the right decision, even though it was a tough decision.

But how can you put a price on this?

What have been your tough decisions lately? How do you deliver bad news? Do you just rip the Band-aid off or plan it for weeks like I did?

Can Babies Baby-Sit???

A few weeks ago, our neighbor's 11-year-old came over to sell me some cookies. Long-time readers will recall I am a SUCKER for solicitors, so of COURSE I bought some.

This was also around the time we were faced with a big change: our daycare provider announced she would need surgery and would be out for 6 weeks. We were debating whether we wanted to try to find a nanny or whether we wanted to start really looking at other daycares.

We had been seeing a lot of fliers around the area for summer helpers, and it was a consideration. Then this girl came to my door. She didn't even bring up baby-sitting!

So I don't know why my reaction was the way it was.

I just looked at Scott and said "no way."

Now, this girl is awesome. She's smart and sweet, she gets great grades, she's responsible enough to be left at home for a few hours each evening.

She's me at 11 years old.

When I was 11 we moved into a new neighborhood and I papered the area with fliers. Using my mother's very new Print Shop program, I created adorable little diapered-baby covered business cards with my name and address and phone number.

Would you ever allow your kid to do this now?? Of course not! It's like an invitation for a pedophile, right?

It was a simpler time.

Within weeks, I had three different gigs. One was for a 6-month-old infant down the street.

At 11 years old.

You guys? I looked at this neighbor girl and thought "absolutely not." This little person hasn't even gone through puberty, she's going nowhere near my daughter.

And it's not just me.

When Wee 'Burb was in center daycare and I took my dad, he got a little flustered. When we got in the car, he whispered "she's kind of...young, right?"

She was probably 19. At 17 I was working in a daycare center, running an entire kindergarten-age room by myself.

But he was right. She was kind of young.

I can't figure out why this reaction was so visceral. I feel awful about it. I was a great baby-sitter. I took the Red Cross Baby-Sitting Course. My mother was down the street. I was great with kids. They loved me. I wanted to form my own Baby-Sitters Club right then and there.

What are your thoughts? Do you let your older kids baby-sit? What age is your baby-sitter? Am I just being insane?

Dog Fight

I’ve mentioned our rather crotchety neighbors, the Dietz’ before here where they lectured us on mowing 12 seconds after we moved in and here where they towed our neighbor's car for being near their illegal sprinkler system.

We’ve enjoyed a rather quiet relationship for them for most of the year we’ve had Wee ‘Burb. I figured it was because they never got around to giving us a present for the baby like some of the other neighbors, or really acknowledged her existence. But again, they didn’t tow my car, so I’m cool with it.

A few weeks ago, Scott came in and told me Mrs. Dietz yelled at him. Now it was 6 a.m. and he’d been working a lot so I was dubious as I said “she actually YELLED at you?” and he was all traumatized like “YEAH!”

So apparently the issue was a legit one. As I mentioned in my previous post, Cous Cous has an issue finding the perfect poop spot. So occasionally her favorite spot is on the line…or over the line…of our yard and theirs.

When she does cross the line, Scott does pick it up and bag it. I know this for sure because I often get halfway through my walk to discover I have no bags.

In the mornings, Mrs. Dietz has a creepy habit of hiding in the shadows and smoking…outside on the top of her deck, which by the way was taken down almost a year ago (just pointing out that for someone all worked up about image, she has a torn down deck and hangs out in her garage watching people go by). So she stands on these leftover pillars, basically, and I never see her except when Cous Cous goes nuts and barks at her.

But this time she stepped out of the shadows to say “it’s not very neighborly to let your dog crap on my lawn.” I kind of looked at Scott and said “Well, she’s kind of right.” I refrained from saying “I told you so” because we had this discussion and I said people without pets may be sensitive to us letting her go on the lawn, even if we clean it up.

So he tells Mrs. Dietz he’s sorry, that he does always clean it up. And she goes “I don’t care. Stephanie doesn’t do it, you know.” Um, once again, you’re not making yourself look great here, Mrs. Dietz, pointing out that you keep track of who takes Cous Cous where. But still, she has a legit complaint, and so far I’m not totally off her side.

Until Scott goes “Okay, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” And instead of doing the mature thing and saying “it’s no problem, thanks” or something else acknowledging that he’s said it won’t happen again, she repeats “I'm saying it’s not neighborly. And Stephanie doesn’t do it, either.”

Now he has no clue what to say so he just mutters “uh huh” and “sorry” again and rushes Cous Cous back inside.

So, this plagued him for awhile and then a week when he was gone, a tree blew down. The tree starts in their yard, but landed in ours. I told Scott we should pick it up so we don't have problems with them, but events got crazy and when he went out to investigate to see if we should call the city, he noticed it was gone and figured out Mr. Dietz had cleaned it up.

So he goes over to Mr. Dietz and gives him a cutting board that Scott engraved as a peace offering. And Mr. Dietz is super cordial, no thanks necessary, no problem cutting down the tree, etcetera. So we figure maybe it’s just Mrs. Dietz with the bug up her ass.

Well, we had a big turnout for Wee ‘Burb’s birthday, which coincided with a huge storm here in Suburbia. We did what we could to snowblow the driveway and the road around our house so that people could park. When a few guests came in rattled, we figured it was the bad roads. But after a few glasses of wine, the truth came out: apparently Mr. and Mrs. Dietz were yelling at people who parked too close to their driveway.

Not blocking it. Just too near it.

The snowbanks were too large to be parked ON their lawn, so I have no clue who they think they are yelling at ANYONE who parks on the PUBLIC street. And we don't have snow emergency rules out here, you just get plowed in if you're on the street.

A few people moved and a few other people resisted the urge to flip them the proverbial bird. Reports were they were standing in their garage and by their front door just shouting at people to move their cars! On my daughter’s first birthday! Which they ABSOLUTELY knew about.

So, it’s on. Official Neighborhood Enemies! Welcome to Suburbia, friends!

Weirdo Neighbor Update

Our neighbors across the street (the ones who got their cars towed by the Dietz family) just told us that they will be watching the Dietz household while they are away Memorial Day. So I guess this means that they either weren't aware that they were the ones that called the cops OR they're just an incredibly forgiving people. But there constant reminders that they want to baby-sit Wee Burb leads me to believe they don't think it's us...unless they want to plant her with a bug or something.

A normal person would think the Dietz didn't pick us because we have a kid and a dog and life is busy. But recent events suggest something slightly more sinister. You see, last week we found a big piece of poo on our deck. Dog owners will understand this: I know it's not Cous Cous' poop. As I mentioned awhile ago here we've occasionally let Cous Cous go across the borders of our yard and into the Dietz.

You're going to think I am paranoid, but let me just say that there are multiple people who said the same thing with me only telling them about the single piece of poo: Dietz revenge. Maybe living in suburbia has made me nutty bananas, but I am not the only one who could picture them shoveling a piece of poo (from what animal, I couldn't tell you, they probably just naturally assumed it was Cous Cous) on to our deck. It was so perfectly placed...the middle of the middle step. Almost impossible not to step on. I mean, I'm home all day and other than cats and Louie, we don't get any animals that even approach our house.

Mostly, though, it's just killing me not to tell the neighbors that it was the Dietz that called the cops.

Lighten Up

This year we were very quick to put up our Christmas lights. They were up right after Thanksgiving like good Christmas celebrators. To most people, this wouldn't be a big deal. But apparently in suburbia, you're judged by your speed in putting up signs of your holiday love.

Last year was a tad busy in that we had returned from our honeymoon about five seconds before we had to host Thanksgiving dinner for the first time in our new house. So our priority was not so much to get up our Christmas lights. Around December 20 we did manage to get out there and put up some lights. In zero degree weather, Scott risked his life standing on a ladder on an icy driveway while I directed him on how best to maximize the 2 strings of lights we had because we were too late to buy new ones.

One string in, our neighbor came over to say hi. And to passively aggressively comment on our tardiness in light hanging by stating "oh, we're so glad you're ACTUALLY putting lights up, we weren't sure you would." As if they'd done nothing from Thanksgiving on but fret over whether their new neighbors would put on an adequate display of holiday adoration. It made me think of every bad Christmas light competition movie I've ever seen...which incidentally I had thought were bad cliches up until this point.

So despite just having a baby and having about 100 things more important to do, outside Scott went to put up our lights, thus avoiding any passive aggressive commentary.

To Mow or Not to Mow: A Neighborhood Intervention

One of the different things about living in the ‘burbs is that even when there’s space between you and your neighbors, that space quickly decreases as they get to know you. Our neighbors decreased that space overnight when on our first day they dragged us over to their yard and plied us with beer and gave us the neighborhood gossip. Everyone seemed cool enough, even if what they knew about the other neighbors was slightly off-putting.

So a week after we moved in, we were preparing my new home office. I had unwittingly chosen the one room in the house that didn’t have cable or phone jacks. Fortunately, I married an electrician. A patient electrician willing to spend a Saturday in June in the attic hooking and unhooking wires and whatever it is he does that gives me the magical box that brings me the Internet and means I don’t have to go into the office anymore.

It took about three hours, but we were in the home stretch and all Scott had to do was go outside and hook up the last few wires. He looked like a sweaty yeti – completely covered head to toe in dirt and insulation from the attic. After about 10 minutes, I started to get nervous. I was supposed to yell to him when the little light came on, but no light was coming on. And it was only supposed to take a minute or two. As I am about to go outside and make sure he hasn’t inadvertently crossed wires or done something else to electrocute himself, he comes walking in looking…weird. I’m not sure how to describe the look, except it was a combination of perplexed and bemused…we’ll call it “permused.”

He recounts this exchange with our neighbor, who we will call Mrs. Dietz in honor of October and one of my favorite ghost movies, Beetlejuice:

Mrs. Dietz: Hey, Scott, how are things going?
Scott: Oh, well, pretty good. Just hooking up Stephanie’s office. Been in the attic all day [points to his insulation-covered body].
Mrs. Dietz: Yeah, it’s a nice day to mow the lawn.

I must be giving the same permused look to Scott because he shrugs and says “exactly!” But, wait there’s more!

Scott: Yeah, I have to go get my mom’s mower, actually. I got one from my uncle but it’s broken so….
Mrs. Dietz: You should borrow ours, it’s no problem.
Scott: [looking at his watch and brushing insulation off his clothing to indicate he has zero intention of spending what is left of his day mowing his lawn] Maybe I’ll do that, take you up on that tomorrow.
Mrs. Dietz: Oh…tomorrow. Well, yeah, only we’re going out of town at 9 in the morning.
Scott: Oh, oh well.

So that’s how he left it and we’re both obsessing about it the rest of the night. On one hand, I was thinking it’s ballsy to say that to someone who clearly has been busy doing home repairs all day, while at the same time I was also slightly embarrassed. We’d been told at the neighborhood drinking party that prior to us buying our house out of foreclosure, there were years of renters who were less than concerned about the upkeep of the house. And to say our neighbors are super concerned about their property and anything within 1,000 feet of it (trust me, more stories to come on that) is a bit of an understatement so I wasn’t fond of us becoming the ugly yard house right out of the gate. But nor was I going to make my husband go out in 90-degree weather to mow after he’d spent the entire week doing repairs while I decorated.

So we both agreed that we would just let it go and get his mom’s mower the next day and mow the lawn and everyone would be happy.

8:55 the next morning the doorbell rings. Scott and I are still in bed after a late night of hooking up the rest of the office and celebrating my new work at home status with some beer and pizza. We look at each other and both whisper “NO WAY!”

Way. There, standing at our door at five minutes until 9 a.m. is Mrs. Dietz. With her lawnmower. Totally sweetly saying “return it anytime!” With that, she and her family took off and Scott got dressed to mow our lawn for the first time.