Daycare daze

Our little lad Noah-David has been on the daycare train for the last two months. He pulled into the station just a couple of weeks shy of his second birthday. Up to that point he had been loved, snuggled, bum wiped and tickled mostly by his Mom and Dad in his own home.

The switch to daycare days has been tough for all of us. We didn’t just dive in. We took the time for a gradual introduction and it seemed that all was relatively well. Short little bursts with Mom, or caregiver Tomoyo, in attendance for most of the visit were seemingly happy, at least neutral, ruckus free occasions with no cause for worry.

When visits became longer stays with Mom and Tomoyo removed from the mix, tears began to define the daily drop off. There was a constant refrain in a pleading and wavering voice when getting ready to leave the house, or arriving at the daycare – “no garderie papa, no garderie” – garderie being the French word for this unmentionable place.

Joking aside, as I entered the space it was heartbreaking to hear the anguish in his voice. Wiping away the salty drop tears trickling down his cheeks and seeing the puzzled hurt in his unbelieving eyes as I peeled his arms from around my neck and brought him gently down to the floor was a difficult way for us both to begin our days away from home.

The first week was the toughest particularly when we got the reports from the teachers at pick up time. There was one full day of crying with only a brief break in the morning during story time. As the story ended, the tears began to flow. That same afternoon the children were taken to the gym to listen to music. Our wee boy loves to dance and dance he did through a stream of tears and sobs. This crying and dancing image will be with me forever – a young broken heart trying to dance his troubles away.

One change in routine that seemed to help things was walking to daycare instead of taking the car. Pushing the stroller along for a 30-minute saunter allowed us to discover together, to talk, to laugh, to have fun. It was a less abrupt transition, more about being in the moment and less about the apprehension of getting there. The tears were still there on arrival but now they only lasted for a brief spell.

During all this time, maman had the pleasure of pick up duty. Every day when she arrived it was to an armful of ecstatic baby boy thrilled to be going home. This was the part of the day that Noah got to say, “bye-bye les amis”, undoubtedly his preferred daycare expression.

Well maman continues to pick him up in the afternoons and is now dropping him off in the mornings too. She’s one month away from baby number two and on leave from work because of some challenges with the pregnancy. She is gathering her energies and strength for the big push. For maman’s first drop off there were no tears. That was an exception as they came back the following day and are with us still though less intense, less pronounced.

Daycare for Noah-David will come to halt within the next couple of months and he’ll be home full time with his new little sister and maman. It’s likely that he will never go back. This experience has made us reassess our priorities as parents, as breadwinners, as partners. Our new goal is to have a parent at home until the babies are in school. We haven’t worked out all the details yet but we’re confident that we can and we’re sure that we’ll all be dancing minus the tears.

A quick postscript, personal experience has taught me that daycare professionals are warm, caring and loving with their charges. This is what I’ve seen with Noah and with my two daughters. The caregivers do everything within their means to console, cajole, to bring about a smile, to make the daycare space safe and playful.

That’s certainly how it was when I worked in Toronto’s Snowflake Parent-Child Centre Co-operative in the early 1980s. I was only there briefly and I cherished the time. Each of those children needed to be loved – Tosha, Tu, Spencer, David, Michael, Spring Dawn, Nadhezda – some were more loveable than others.

It was a rainbow of a place with all colours of children from points across the globe, some of whom were just learning English. The staff were diverse too - three women and three men caregivers, a rare ratio even by today's standards. It was a place that advocated for childcare and I remember us protesting outside Queen's Park to improve access and funding.

I still have vibrant memories of those small, wee souls who trusted us with their days. I hear their soft voices at play. I still see the bursting excitement at a parent’s arrival. I see their smiles after tears have been comforted away and think of how fortunate I was to share some brief moments full of wonder.

From Japan with Love

Our son loves Moyo. She’s his best friend. Over the past five months they’ve been inseparable. I was there each weekday morning to witness her arrival and each time she rang our doorbell I was reminded of our good fortune.

Immediately on hearing the chimes, our lad literally dropped whatever was at hand and lunged in the general direction of the front door. Whether he was strapped into his high chair, or snuggled up reading, his drive was to get close to Moyo as quickly as possible. All the while he would repeatedly shout out her name in a cadence that unmistakably said – and so much more eloquently than mere words – “we’ll have great fun again today Moyo”.

If Noah-David happened to be on the main level of the house and he saw Moyo’s face appear at the door, the fun would get off to a rollicking start. Our young boy would propel himself to the entrance and begin an energetic dance full of pirouettes and gyrations of happiness, his little body an animated exclamation mark of pure, unrestrained joy. As she walked through the door, the dance intensified and Noah would approach Moyo requesting one of his favourite activities.

One morning, shortly after arriving, Noah-David took Moyo’s hand and led her into the living room closing the door behind him. He was on a mission and I was curious to find out what was on his mind. As I gently pushed the door open, I felt resistance from the other side and heard Noah’s tiny voice exclaiming ‘no’ as he emphatically closed the door. This sharing moment was between friends and didn’t require a Dad on the journey.

In the five months that Moyo came to our house, there were only tears on three occasions as I left for work. Our standard adieu shtick consisted of an enthusiastic send-off with waves and blown kisses whose real subtext was, “thanks Papa I was despairing of ever having Moyo all to myself”.

What a great feeling at the outset of the day’s adventures to know with certainty that your child is playing happily - learning, loving and being loved. That’s the nub of it all, what Moyo embodied was much more than childcare. She gave herself totally and unreservedly to our boy. She shared her enthusiasm for hopping, jumping, bubble blowing, drawing, reading, walking, making believe and so much more.

On a recent morning as I prepared to leave, Noah-David and Moyo were crouched in the living room, two friends lost in the wonders of modeling clay. Noah-David was rolling roundness in the palms of his little hands. Tiny orbs were populating the floor for no discernible purpose. It was tactile creation, texture, shapes, colours, and fun. It was the becoming of a new world under the direction of quick, smiling eyes.

For Noah-David the five months with Moyo represented nearly one-quarter of his life. As August came to an end so too did our time together. Our Japanese friend left Halifax last week. She is continuing her travels en route to Belfast, Dublin, London, Paris and Amsterdam before returning home to Hyogo prefecture on Japan’s west coast.

Late one evening while preparing Moyo a small gift – a movie of her adventures together with Noah-David punctuated with still photos - I was struck again by how present this young woman had been for our son, how much there and in the moment. Several times as I was editing, reviewing clips and inserting favourite music, I was overcome by tears. I cried in happiness for each magic moment they shared. I wept to mark the passing of a formidable love.

That night it was hard to believe that there would be no more rainbow flotillas of chalk drawing boats on our driveway, our fences, our deck, or our front steps to greet us as we arrived home. We will make sure this playful tradition lives on. The mighty armada, with the S.S. Noah and the S.S. Moyo as the proud flagships, will continue its adventures on Young Street’s calm seas.

On our last day, Moyo presented us with a beautiful parting gift, an album of photos starring Noah-David. It was a tough afternoon, difficult for the adults to say goodbye. Noah’s intuition told him something was amiss and he was unsettled. Dropping Moyo off at her house on Pepperell St., there were tears all around. It was our last chance to say thanks one more time in person. It was hard to let go.

As Moyo flew east to Europe, we flew west to Québec for a few days. Our destination was chez les grandparents in Sorel. Tante Danielle’s horses, walks along the river, dancing with Grandmaman and Tante Stéphanie, kicky-ball with Grandpapa and fun and games with la petite cousine, Maxime kept Moyo’s absence at bay.

We’re into a new week now and it’s no longer quite the same relaxed, languorous, carefree start to the day in familiar home surroundings. Noah-David is off to day care. Two weeks prior to her departure Moyo helped with this transition. She was so proud to see how her little friend was adapting to and embracing this new experience.

It’s been a great run for all of us. Thank you for everything Moyo. We love you.