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Monday 19 November 2012

Home Care

I finally took the leap and put my daughter in a “homecare” situation. Though it’s
unregulated (those were all full), my friend has a grand-kid in and recommended.

Today I walked in to pick up the Guppins and beheld my friend’s grandson, a three-year-
old, standing facing a wall with his hands in the air, crying.

My dreams of liberal childcare in a small town were shattered.

Let alone my state of being.

I adore this kid. First time I saw him I grabbed him and put him on my lap and kissed him
and hugged him. I have always, always been stand offish with “toddlers.” Maybe having
the Guppins warmed me up. But really I think it was him. B is my guy.

As Sir Dick pointed out (after I told him what I saw), B can be a bit of a little shit:

“I’ve seen him poke at the dog when no one’s looking, use his hands to whack at
things. Maybe this is the new age alternative to punishment: i.e., taking off the strap and
saying ‘All right, you—’”

“So they were taking it easy on him?”

Back at the homecare B is crying. He looks like he’s been crying for a while. He looks
like his arms are sore (I have no idea if this had been two minutes or ten); he keeps
asking to bring them down. But Childcare Lady’s husband is standing in close range, his
voice all-powerful:

“Keep ’em up or we start the clock all over.”

I say, “Hey B, how you doing?” then to the babysitter “What’s going on with B? A little
time out?”

I am balancing a number of emotions. I am trying to act normal, but with just enough
prescience to ask what the fuck is going on. And the husband, well he’s standing there in
the background making dern sure this little boy keeps those paws in the air.

Child-minder woman, a very sweet woman, a very calm woman, says,

“Oh well yes, he’s having a time out, he does things with his”… she stumbles
here… “well, he just has to put his hands up.”

This is a mess. This is unbelievable. Suddenly I’m back in grade one with Mrs. Shaw as
she terrorizes a small boy in the class, hauls him across her lap, pulls down his pants in
front of us, Bobby’s screaming and crying, his bare bum is showing …who she spanked
in front of us…

This is wrong.

I bundle up the Guppins. It’s a Friday so I say, “Okay, so Monday I’m not sure about, I
have a friend visiting with her daughter [true — East End Mama and Cookie]; I’ll call you”

From the wall:

“I need to sleeeeep!”

I say, “You get your nap in, okay? You get some sleep,” and I wish I could say I nail her
with a look but I don’t. I just…look. Pointedly.

And I’m out the door.

The Guppins is happy enough; she happily waves goodbye and says, “Ta ta.” They are
teaching her manners. I take it they are good at that.

I question her in the car:

“Do you like [Childminder Lady]? Do you like [her husband]?”

“Ya!”

“Do they make you stand in the corner with your hands in the air?”

This question comes up several times during the remainder of the day in the following
forms:

1. Guppins wakes up from her nap, stands on the bed next to the wall, and leans on it.
She’s crying, in a bad mood. I say, “Did she make you do that today?”

2. Later watching TV there’s some little animated character who, remarkably,
coincidentally, is dancing up against a kitchen wall with his hands in the air. I ask, “Is that
what B did today?”

I try to calm down. I try to get perspective. I google:

Is making a three-year-old stand facing the wall with his hands in the air child abuse?

Two things come up. One is the Dr. Sears’ treatise on time-outs; the
other is a porny site.

I recommend the Sears. But NOWHERE in it is there mentioned a time out facing the
wall WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR.

I call my friend. First I bake (just to calm me down because the emotions are coming fast
and furious), but I call. I try not to be judgmental. She responds perfectly. She says “His
hands in the air?”

“Facing the wall. But he wasn’t on a seat [I reference Dr. Sears], he wasn’t alone, at
least; that’s a good thing.” (reminiscent of Blair Witch final moments)

“It’s good you called. We’ll talk later.”

The bread is baked (it’s a total flop), the baby wakes up, and my incredibly happy week
of having three hours a day, not including the afternoon nap, all to myself…

ARE OVER.

Sir Dick: “You shoulda known five bucks an hour for a babysitter was too good to be
true.”

Too true.

-Drama Mama

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