Daycare Days

My heart broke a little when I dropped the Bean off at daycare on Monday. Not because of her little bird-like cries for "mamamamamama," but because of what I saw in the parking lot. Rather, what I heard.

My reflexes to "scary" noises are a little like someone with PTSD. I have a visceral response, like my fight-or-flight mechanism is a little too sensitive. If Alex drops a bar of soap in the shower, I race upstairs to see if he fell, knocking himself unconscious and ready to asphyxiate in a pool of his own blood. When a door slams outside, I can't help but notice my body jump a little, my shoulders tightening toward my ears. Or if I'm aware of someone yelling in the hallway outside my office, I freeze and think about hiding or locking my door, should they be a crazed veteran killer or a terrorist of sorts. Yeah, some might say I'm hypervigilant. Or melodramatic.

So in the parking lot of Blue Skies & Butterflies, when I heard a scathing adult male voice yelling, my first instinct was to get back in the car. I turned to locate the yelling, and saw that it was a man, presumably the Dad, yelling very aggressively at a pre-school aged girl. The woman, presumably Mom, proceeded to walk the little girl into the classroom while Dad shouted meanly, "JUST GO AND CRY ABOUT IT. GET IT OUT!" I saw Mom give Girl a quick kiss on the cheek, ask if she was okay, and then leave. By the time I signed the check-in sheet and walked all the way into the classroom, the little girl was sniffling and cowering in the corner by the coat rack.

My heart broke, and then in a whisper I relayed my eye-witness account to the daycare teachers, in case they knew more about something than I did. I thought about this incident - the dad's mean, mean tone, his shouting volume, and the little girl's crying then cowering response - I thought about her on and off all day. It makes me sad to think that people talk to kids that way, of course, but particularly sad that there's nothing anyone else can really do about it. It reminded me, more than anything, how conscious Alex and I need to be of our words and tones - not when we speak to Francie, because we're both obsessed with her, but when we talk to one another. Just because we're grown-ups doesn't mean we should speak or be spoken to in anything less than kind words and even tones.

When I dropped the Bean off the next morning at daycare - she in all her newfound bravery and developing affinity for "koo" (school) - I asked her for a hug and got denied, her arms instead reaching forward for a hug from her teacher. The same little girl that got yelled at the day before, Amaya, offered to give me a hug instead. I might have held on a little tighter than I normally would when hugging a strange kid. Just in case this was her only embrace for the day.

Suffice it to say, the Bean is adapting quite well to thrice weekly daycare. She seems to love her teacher, "Kuh" (Jessica), and talks about "Beebee" (a 4-month old classmate), most evenings. She has not cried the last two days at drop-off, and she's always excited to see me when I pick her up in the afternoons. This week, she hasn't been as quick to want a hug or to be picked up, but instead keeps playing with the toys, and is eager to show me her favorites. If Baby Makena was a toy, she'd definitely be the favorite.