I think it's pretty bad that I am grateful that I didn't go ape shit yesterday. There is always a fine line...as a mother, sometimes the line is blurred between advocating for your child or to just voice frustration from the break of routine. You may roll your eyes because you know the obvious answer. But is it obvious when you are insane when the traffic is bad and you are delayed from getting your child even though you know your child is in a safe place?
This is where my questioning began. Yesterday...(blurry lines as we step back to yesterday...)
There are renovations presently happening at Rachel's daycare/pre-school. The facility is part of a college campus so while the renovations are being done, they moved the children to large rooms in a building right next door. But this move didn't go as smoothly as I cared for on Monday morning. I found the building (while it was all ready 82 degrees...I know I am being a bitch baby but I was wearing a silk top). Rachel and I go up to the second floor to her interim room. The room is gorgeous: high vaulted ceiling and bigger than my first apartment in Brookline. Rachel just wanted to run around this room and then she quickly finds the trucks. (Every time she says, "truck", I giggle every time.) I figure out where to put her stuff and wait. While the time is 8:00, there was no teacher in the room or a note saying they were outside. I wait a couple of minutes and then pry Rachel away from her new indoor playground. I go to the first floor where the older/younger pre-school are housed. The teachers look at me blankly as I explain there is no teacher upstairs. (Are you freakin' kidding me...time's a tickin'! Because, I will admit selfishly, it is about me.) Finally the director of the facility, who is visibly stressed with the change says that Rachel's class is on the playground (which you cannot see from this building.) She offers to take Rachel from me, but I am a martyr and say that I can take Rachel down to the playground. Drips of sweat are running down my spine and I don't think my deodorant is working anymore. Rachel's morning teacher is there and I am about to complain that there was no note saying where she was...but I don't. Rachel is safe and cared for with her...she always is. With Rachel, I also have her 2012-2013 school year paperwork for the new year and the check for her yearbook. Yeah, Rachel is 2 and she is going to have a yearbook. Her yearbook is more expensive than mine was when I was a senior in high school. (In case you graduated from Westbrook High School in 1990 with me, the cost was $22. Rachel's is $35) I am asked to run it upstairs (of the building that is being renovated). I am assured that it is okay to go up there....great. As I drop off the paperwork and the check, I am not afraid of breathing in anything bad or getting in the way...I just don't want to see butt crack. (If you knew CCW's love for loose pants, you would know my pain.) My six minute drop off has now taken me 21 minutes...I am beyond pissed. But I don't think I am as pissed as another parent who cannot even find the room to drop off his son's lunch. And this guy has a bachelor's from MIT and an MBA from Dartmouth.
I blatantly ask myself if I should have voiced my displeasure or just let it lie? Rachel's health or well being were not compromised. The transition wasn't fluid and there should have been signage to help the parents. My time was comprised but this was out of the ordinary. Should I be pissy for an extra 15 minutes? All day, I contemplate sending the director a stern note. But I don't because this was my inconvenience that had nothing to do with Rachel's care.
This morning took place without a hitch. I dropped Rachel off at the playground and then dropped off her stuff in her temporary room---it took 8 minutes.
Christ...did I dodge a bullet. I am grateful I didn't send that e-mail. There are only a few people that you never want to piss off and your childcare provider is one of them. (Even though that yearbook for a 2 year old is kind of weird.)
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