caleb chronicles: day care

This feels important. I don’t think it’s a privacy concern to share in this space that Young Master Caleb’s birthday is October 14. He turned two on a grey, rain-soaked Friday, the first of the season. We had celebrated his birthday the weekend before with friends and family in our home. The actual day wasn’t meant to be anything out of the ordinary – save for one thing. Emmelle and I both took the day off from work to visit his new school (day care) with him prior to transitioning fully the following Monday. We intended for the day to begin with a visit to his new Montessori day care and conclude with birthday cake (or “cape” as he calls it). Like many celebrations, it was a day for ends and beginnings. We also meant for it to be void of surprises and emotions. Whoops. Before I share any further, I’d like to go back a year (since of course, I don’t actually document anything on this blog). During a frenetic September/October 2015, we sold our condo in West Oakland and simultaneously moved to a single family home further east in the Oakland Hills. Fortuitously, a Montessori school resides just a block down the road from our new home. Emmelle immediately placed a deposit to secure a spot for Young MC for when he turned two. Montessori schools are extremely highly regarded for young children. These activities felt like things that good, caring parents would do - moving away from the hipster confines of West Oakland into a more suburban neighborhood, looking forward to advancing his educational prospects. We discovered a vacant spot at another nearby day care for Young MC to spend his next year. Miss Jenny, the only nanny he ever had, said her final goodbye shortly after we moved. It was not a difficult decision; she had expressed that our new home was an arduous trek each day and Young MC had reached an age in which it became more difficult for her to effectively care for him as her expertise resided with younger babies. He did not seem to harbor explicit notions of attachment either, perhaps simply a symptom of how young he still was at the time. In short, this first move did not feel like we deprived him of anything he truly cherished. ………. I remember the first day we escorted him to his new school – just a quick visit to acclimate him to his new surroundings, not unlike what we intended to do on his second birthday. We sat our little munchkin at the meal table with his new friends for snack time, and he immediately took to the activity. It was a great relief, it was incredibly adorable, it was his new life for several hours a day. That is not to say that the transitional phase was void of difficulty. We certainly experienced our fair share of crying during morning drop offs and endured the pangs of guilt that all parents do. It’s difficult to recall that he had not taken his first steps by this point. Young MC, ever the cautious fellow, had physically developed long before this time to stand on his own – and possibly inch one foot forward. But he chose not to, not until he reached 14 months. Instead, he would immediately squat down and position himself back to what was most familiar. And as “good, caring” parents should do, this guarded personality would alter how we thought about his transition. He quickly grew comfortable at his new school and found comfort with one teacher in particular - Miss L. Over time, he sought her out in the mornings. Young MC would practically shoo me away as long as he had Miss L close by. She texted us pictures and videos. At school, he giggled, he learned to wipe his nose, he ran in circles with his classmates and squealed cheerfully. He established his full appreciation for anything with wheels - trains, trucks, buses, airplanes and tractors. I'm certain he came home with a couple of bite marks on his arms because that appreciation was a little too strong and selfish =). The seasons passed all too quickly. During an arid Indian Summer, we debated sending him to school in tank tops. As fall turned to colder months and a harsh rain, Young MC caught every cold possible – for what seemed like months and months. He healed and grew stronger. The rains gave birth to a warm spring. The kids played outside; Young MC left day care each day with a handful of playground sand in his shoes as evidence. He came home with food stains, art work and the occasional Ouchie Report. Then came the summer and his first official “summer break”. And then fall. A year passed. ………. We arrived at the Montessori school on Friday morning. The school, a converted home in our neighborhood, rests behind a heavy wooden gate facing the street. We walked inside to find a colorful playground and outdoor toys to the right – large dinosaurs and trucks. On the left, up a small flight of stairs is the patio leading to the school. The patio is jammed with shoes, kids’ outerwear of all sizes into personalized cubbies. On this rainy day, there were rain boots and jackets adorned everywhere. Amidst all of this, I found a hand-written cubie with Young MC’s name on it. Once the teachers admitted us inside, Young MC carefully watched older children participating in a variety of activities – most commonly in self-contained environments. A couple of children cried. The teachers explained that they were newer students, only having been at the school for “two to three weeks”. I had been mentally preparing for about a week of hardship in the morning drop-off. Perhaps it would be much worse. Young MC clung to his mom tightly and would not budge without the confidence of knowing she would be right next to him. More than anything else in his first two years, we’ve learned that he is an introvert. It takes a series of interactions for him to develop a comfort with anyone. So how could we really alter his routine? We left in less than an hour and drove a short way to his school. We joked uneasily in the car ride about how difficult the following week would be. We both silently wondered how much stress this would put on our little guy. He rubbed his eyes in his car seat, already tired from having woken up so early in the morning. I felt sad knowing what he didn’t know. Today would be his last day with Miss L and his familiar environment. Young MC refused to walk down the corridor, and we carried him down the hallway to his classroom. Miss L greeted us at the door, and he reached out for her immediately. She picked him up and squeezed him firmly; he rested his tired head on her chest and rubbed his eyes – an intimate move he perhaps does only with his mom. Miss L gave him a kiss, believing this to be the very last time she would be doing so. She handed us a wrapped package. A birthday gift. I stepped back and walked down the hallway, fighting off a sudden burst of emotion. I couldn’t pinpoint it to one thing but a confluence of factors. The feeling that tugged at me most was this growing dilemma that Young MC was unknowingly saying goodbye to somebody whom he truly loves. And no matter how limited his cognitive and emotional abilities are at age two, it's undeniable that he understands want and loss, Emmelle finished her goodbyes and caught up to me towards the front door. She had tears in her eyes. We stepped out and briskly walked back to our car with the rain steadily pouring down. Emmelle wept. I fought back some tears. She wondered out loud if she should run back inside and plead to retain his spot. Plans change. Emmelle resiliently darted back into the school to reverse course on a decision we’d been working toward for a year. We were not concerned about losing the security deposit, only to ensure the optimal environment for our son. Moments passed and I watched as my wife walked slowly back toward the car, wiping tears from her eyes. “Oh no, we are too late”, I thought to myself. It turns out these were tears of relief. Thankfully, the daycare principal immediately assured Emmelle that Young MC would be welcomed back with open arms. We sat in the car silently for a moment, listening to the soft rain fall on the roof of the car. It was one of those moments as husband-and-wife in which you can have a silent conversation. Score this day a win for good parenting. We drove to a nearby diner and reflected on the morning over a hot cup of coffee. In the grand scheme of all things, this is merely a blip on the radar. But on that day and even looking back in retrospect more than a week later, it feels important. We understand that we can’t shield our son from all discomforts throughout life. But we can bring pause every so often. He is still of a tender age in which shielding and guarding feels synonymous with helping him to grow and develop. I’m sure parental books say otherwise. I actually don't care beyond the grinning toddler that we see in front of us. Lo and behold, his new day care allowed us to defer the transition for another year. Security deposit not wasted and honestly, the best possible outcome. But yes, we will be going through this again next year. For the record, we stopped by one of our favorite bakeries in the area and picked up a Tres Leches cake. He blew out two candles. And then he did it one more time. Happy Birthday, son. Omma and Ahpa love you. It’s been a long time since I’ve written this: Thanks for stopping by.