The author in 2007 with one of her young charges (her nephew).
I have always been maternal. It started with the cats. But they didn’t appreciate being carried by a hyperactive four-year-old, so I shifted my focus to my little sister. She didn’t really appreciate my attention either and expressed her displeasure by such measures as flushing my water gun down the toilet. I got the message and left her alone. Still, I quietly dreamed of the day when I would be able to be a pseudo-mommy. It’s not so much that I spent my entire life wanting kids of my own as much as I wanted to be able to spend a lot of time with them. I started with volunteer work — tutoring second-graders when I was 15, working the pediatric oncology ward when I was 16 — but eventually and predictably graduated to daycare teaching.
I got my first taste of earning money by working with children when I spent several months shuttling around three of my young step-cousins the summer I turned nineteen; when I moved across the country that fall, I stayed with another branch of my family and gleefully spent my evenings and weekends helping out with the childcare duties for my cousin’s two-year-old daughter. It was clear that I greatly enjoyed this kind of work. And yet, when I was hired to be a daycare teacher in 2003, it was by accident. At that point, I was on leave from college, depressed, and willing to do almost anything that would get me out of the house. The job called for me to work with toddlers for nine hours a day at $7.00 an hour. It might sound like hell to some people, but the actual job was a source of great joy and proved to be the best learning experience of my entire life.
The daycare worked with children aged six weeks to five years, and served affluent families in a suburban county near New York City. There was not a single man on staff at the facility. The three administrators and all of the teachers (eight classes with two teachers per class, plus approximately five “floaters” who worked with multiple classes) were women. The only men who came to the building were the fathers, one physical therapist, and one random folk singer who taught music classes. And while there were a few exceptions, the children were dropped off, picked up, and visited during the day by their mothers. It was clearly demarcated that this was a Female Zone and this was women’s work.
The pay was, as I noted, absolutely crap — meanwhile, the director would drive around the parking lot in a Porsche. Hence, my first lesson on the job was that your wages will often be inversely proportional to the importance of your work. My co-teacher and I watched over fifteen children from 7:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m. We fed them, potty-trained them, helped them learn to brush their teeth, taught them to write the alphabet, separated them when they started whacking each other with wooden blocks, hugged them when they cried, rubbed their backs to try and get them to nap, and read endless stories to them. We were their surrogate parents for a significant part of their days, often five days a week. I was on the lowest end of the pay totem pole because I did not have my college degree, but I was performing almost the exact same tasks as my colleagues who did. Even the teacher with the most experience, a woman in her mid-fifties, made only $12 an hour.
The thirteen months I spent at that job were filled with more good days than bad, but there was inevitable frustration. What was perhaps most rewarding was that I made real, solid connections with these children. Out of the fifteen children I worked with, I ended up babysitting for nine of them on a regular basis. My weekend job paid for what my day job did not, as the parents were happy to shell out $15 an hour to have me come play with their kids. So I ended up working at this job six or seven days a week, between the teaching and the babysitting, and it started to feel like I was mimicking motherhood with all the time I spent around these children.
I got a sense of just how much these kids would mean to me on the very first day, when one little girl named Jessica (all names have been changed to protect the semi-innocent) fell off the slide and cut her mouth, bleeding all over me. When she stopped crying and gave me a big hug in gratitude for getting ice for her mouth, I realized that these kids were going to turn this job into much more than just a route to a (meager) paycheck. That same girl, who looked like a Cabbage Patch Doll with my best friend’s face, later proved to be the most tantrum-filled kid I ever worked with, once telling me that she didn’t have to listen to me because “you’re the little teacher.” I grinned as I reminded her, “I’m still bigger than you.”
The job provided me with the chance to watch the development of some amazing children. There was Alexander, who didn’t give a damn about gendered norms and loved nothing more than slipping on the purple high heels and being a princess during dress-up time. There was Rebecca, who rationalized the fact that she had been adopted from China by proudly announcing, “I come from China, the land of pork dumplings.” She once sat on my lap, turned to give me a kiss, and thwacked her head against my nose so hard that I had to go to the emergency room because it wouldn’t stop bleeding. There was Zoe, who had a voice that was nearly as deep as that of Darth Vader. The tiniest kid in the class, Zoe had a Napoleon complex and insisted on pushing everyone else around; she also believed she was a boy and made her parents buy her boys’ pull-up diapers.
And then there were the two boys with developmental disorders, who were under our care despite the fact that neither I nor my co-teacher had any specific training to work with these children. Our best guess is that Michael had something akin to autism. He would bang his head against bookshelves in the middle of circle time, then look around as if nothing had happened. He would spontaneously yell “No more pasta!” at random times (i.e., “Michael, do you want to read The Cat in the Hat?” “Sarah! No more pasta, Sarah!”). Johnny’s symptoms were far more severe. He slurred his words. He couldn’t form sentences. Instead of asking for milk, he would just hit another child who was sitting near the milk carton. He refused to be toilet-trained. He would become violent when he could not express himself, which was almost always. I often came home with bruises and bites from Johnny’s rage. A teacher isn’t supposed to have favorites, but we all did. Johnny was my favorite, if only because everyone else — including the other teachers — stayed the hell away from him, unwilling to deal with the complications he brought into the classroom. Babysitting him was particularly rewarding, as I could give him my undivided attention.
Finally, there was Travis. A few days after my co-teacher and I had experienced a particularly exasperating day with him, leading us to brand him “annoying,” we learned that he had leukemia and wouldn’t be coming back for a while. He died before the end of the school year. I learned from Travis just how fragile a child’s life is.
I learned a lot of other lessons, too. I learned how to sing “Little Bunny Foo Foo”. I learned that the kids would instantly go to sleep if I put The Lord of the Rings soundtrack on at naptime. I learned exactly how to sense when certain kids were about to have potty-training “accidents.” I learned how to get blue frosting out of a child’s hair. And I learned that while I have had my fill of teaching toddlers (well, at least for now), I absolutely love little kids.
I think I’m justified in complaining about the pay for those positions; and while I will continue to rail against the expectation that childcare is explicitly women’s work, the fact is that it is viewed as being such within our culture. Despite the importance of watching over large groups of young children for many hours each day, the ability to designate it as a task for women helps people justify the lack of respect afforded the position and its correspondingly low pay. My hope is that by the time I send my own child to daycare, the situation will have changed.
When I become a parent, I plan on investigating the wages paid to the actual sitters at the daycares I plan on enrolling said future children.
You know damn well the parents were paying a significant amount for the daycare. I’ll straight up tell the center I want a center where the staff who is actually doing the caring is making a decent amount versus lining the daycare walls with Pottery Barn custom color paint.
/or so I say now.
The kids cared for by you were lucky kids, methinks. Thanks for sharing.
As for your last paragraph, amen. In a sociology class I took, this was called “pink collar” jobs. Teaching, nursing work, etc. What horrified me was that historically, when more women start coming into a job, it becomes less prestigious and pays less. Sigh.
I was raised to be maternal. I had dolls, and my mother taught me exactly how to care for them properly. I babysat (for kids aged newborn to 7 years) throughout my middle and high school years. I even babysat for family friends when I had graduated from college, worked in Corporate America, and no longer needed the money. In short, I feel comfortable with kids, and I know a lot about how to take care of them…and yet I do not want children of my own. I’m still coming to terms with this aspect of myself. Growing up, I always assumed that childless women of a certain age must not like kids. I never really considered that liking kids might not be enough to make someone want to be a mother. And yet here I am!
(Oops, indulged in an overshare of my own there!)
I have always loved being around kids as well. At weddings, I’m always the on teaching the kids the chicken dance and electric slide and at family parties, you’ll find me playing freeze tag while the adults sip wine and enjoy some child-free time. It’s my hope that I can be a SAHM and have a little home daycare to make some money. Oh, pre-economic collapse dreams, you’re fun to remember!
My son’s daycare is exclusively staffed by women. I do see a lot of dads dropping off (I drop off most days, husband picks up every day) so maybe that has changed a bit.
My mom owns a nursery school and daycare center so I have nothing but respect for the ladies at my son’s daycare.
SOALG, were the parents nice to you? I always tell them thank you for taking care of him and wish them nice days, weekends, etc., but I would like to let them know how great I think they are.
Just a comment:
It’s called Asperger’s syndrome. Aspies are a lot more functioning than most Autistic children, all you really would have noticed at that age would have been some slight social awkwardness, possible lack of emotion, and a consuming obsession with something or other (my obsessions were dragons and books.)
Thankee for sharing. I honestly can’t parse why such demanding, and vital careers as childcare specialist and teacher are so underpaid. It’s absolutely counter-intuitive.
@Maritsa: The parents were fabulous to me, for the most part. On my last day, I was showered with cards and gifts as a thank you, even from the parents whose children I no longer worked with.
@Algae: Apologies for the misspelling! Will correct it now. My mother is always convinced I have Asperger’s, although I try convincing her that it’s just severe OCD/social anxiety. As for little Michael, his parents refused to believe there could be anything wrong with him and wouldn’t even get him tested. It was heartbreaking, because he obviously needed some specialized help that we could not give him.
Bless you SOALG. The world is a better place because of people like you who are willing to be kind, loving role models to children that aren’t biologically theirs.
I wish I was such a person but unfortunately being a daycare provider for 15 toddlers sounds like my own personal version of hell.
@SOALG I’m glad. It seems like all the parents in my son’s nursery are nice, but my mom has had some awful people who treat her and her staff like morons. And because she’s the owner she also has to deal with the ones that don’t want to pay!
Sarah- This was a beautiful post. I couldn’t do what you did- with Blondeglz it would be insanity and madness to me. I grew up with dozens and dozens of younger cousins (around 50 or so) that i watched as a teenager.
To me it sounds if you really love your job, as you love being with children, it doesn’t really feel like work.
What great stories! And you’re right, early childcare educators should be paid SO MUCH more than they are. I recently read a book about Geoffrey Canada and the Harlem Children’s Zone (“Whatever it Takes”) and am more convinced than ever about the importance of early childhood education.
I’m like you: I love kids. I’m always making googly eyes at them whenever I see them, making them smile and laugh. I spent a summer as a camp counselor to a cabin full of 8 year olds and LOVED it. Just old enough that they were starting to be independent, just young enough that they’d still want to hold hands or run around the cabin like little naked screaming banshees during changing for swim time or showers (the other counselors called my wild girls the barenaked ladies). I know I want to have kids in the next few years, but for now I get my fix rocking babies in the Special Care Nursery at the Children’s Hospital.
soalg, are you sure you aren’t Mary Poppins? I’ve seen you pull some pretty unusual stuff outta that big bag of yours…
And lalaland13, this:
is something that needs to be pointed out repeatedly, and especially on AP’s Day, since as recently as 100 years ago, to be a personal secretary to a gentleman could be considered a fairly prestigious vocation. WWI rolls in, men fight and die, women enter the paid work force, and BAM!
@PhD: I just pulled a big cookie out of that huge bag. Nom nom nom.
I should note that I had a male preschool teacher when I was a small fry, and I never thought there was anything peculiar about that. Kids just don’t notice that stuff, which is why it’s such a shame that it’s been designated as a women’s profession — the next generation will only associate it as being so because of what they witness in the makeup of their own daycares and preschools and babysitters.
I have 2 kids in daycare. My childcare bill is more than my mortgage every month. And while the daycare is a good one, it’s not some fancy, prep-school preschool. I earn a decent living, but we’re just barely hanging on by our fingernails until my son starts kindergarten this fall.
This is why I don’t understand why some sort of universal childcare initiative, including living wages for childcare workers, isn’t part of the economic recovery plans. It seems like a no-brainer to me. Those jobs can’t be exported, it could benefit low-wage workers, especially women, it would help “working families”, and could provide high quality early childhood education for everyone who wants it. It’s a win, win, win, win!
@Complain-o-peeps: That is an excellent idea. I recently discovered how much my SIL is paying for daycare for 2 kids…and I almost screamed. SO EXPENSIVE. Your plan sounds perfect. Have you read about anything even remotely similar to that plan being pushed in D.C.?
@Kivrin: No, beyond some increases in Head Start-type programs. For all the talk that goes on from both parties about helping “working families” (as opposed to what, exactly, all those non-working, lay-about families out there?) I never see something like universal childcare seriously addressed. Too much like socialism, I guess, freaks people out. Plus, children and low-wage earning women are not exactly political powerhouse constituencies – we need our own version of AARP, apparently.
I have a friend who lives in Germany, she pays a nominal fee for full-time daycare for her kids. Her jaw dropped when she found out what we pay. And I know that the teachers in our daycare are poorly paid. Not relative to other daycare workers, but relative to, you know, life. The daycare is always looking for ways to raise funds to buy books, or craft supplies, so it’s not like this huge bill that’s bleeding us dry every month is even sufficient to fund a good school plus living wages for the staff. And there’s a wait-list for this place because high-quality, affordable daycare is scarce in my town, like in just about every town.
So I’m not the only one who falls for the most difficult kids….
@Complain-o-peeps: When I was in HS, we had an ECC class that was an actual pre-school. Hands on learning for the HS students supervised by 2 teachers. The kids loved it, cause they got lots of one-on-one time and the class was free for their parents. There was a 200+ person waiting list to get the pre-schoolers into this class, with some people trying to sign up while they were still pregnant! It wouldn’t satisfy all the demand, but it would be great if we saw more programs like that.
@Complain-o-peeps: That is definitely necessary, I agree with you 100%. My sister got really cheap childcare from me with my nephew because it didn’t feel like a job to watch him. Not everyone has that option. The problem is that, as you say, “it could benefit low-wage workers, especially women, it would help ‘working families’” — and that is just not viewed as a compelling constituency for people who draft laws. It’s depressing as hell.
I’ve worked as a nanny for several years, and it’s incredible how little respect the job gets. I’ve been lucky to work for amazing families who have all been willing to pay well, but because childcare is considered “women’s work” it’s barely taken seriously as a real job. I’ve gotten endless comments from family asking when I plan to leave the kids behind and “get a real job.” Now that I’ve been accepted to grad school everyone is relieved in a way that makes me sort of uncomfortable. I think that a huge part of the issue is that people feel uncomfortable valuing previously unpaid “women’s work.”
Thanks for writing this- it’s always fascinating to hear from other childcare workers who understand the rewards and pleasures of the job.
Also, your nephew is adorable.
[...] nobody@flickr.com (Orbitgal) placed an interesting blog post on I Am Not Mary Poppins: An OvershareHere’s a brief overviewThe author in 2007 with one of her young charges (her nephew). I have always been maternal. It started with the cats. But they didn’t appreciate being carried by a hyperactive four-year-old, so I shifted my focus to my little sister. She didn’t really appreciate my attention either and… [...]
I hate children. There, I said it. I honestly have a visceral reaction to children and have no desire to be around them. That said, i worked as a nanny for a year and absolutely fell in love with the little girl, which was surprising in and of itself, as I DON’T LIKE CHILDREN.
However, I have found that I love special needs children. I worked with special needs children for about 2 years and I loved it. They ran the gamut from MR to autism and everywhere in between. It was one of the most rewarding jobs I’ve ever had, and watching these kids grow and develop and make progress was truly remarkable. I’ve found that I have no patience for a “normal” child that makes a mess, goes to the bathroom in his clothes, or throws a tantrum. Yet I have all the patience in the world for a child with special needs that does the same.
I learned so much from that job, and while I will never never never work in any form of childcare again, I wouldn’t give that experience up for the world. For the record, I only made $12/hr for working with kids with special needs. I had a college degree and specialized training, and was required to dress, clean, watch, feed, and develop curriculum for all of these children. So yes, severely overworked and underpaid. However, that private nannying job I mentioned? $15/hr no problem for just one toddler and so much less work.
great post! this reminded me of the years i spent working with an autistic boy and how rewarding it was but how little i was paid for such a personal investment. he’s in mainstream public school now, and i came out ahead despite the crappy salary.
also, would you be willing to come here and be my nanny? (I promise we’ll pay well!)
@Britni: A little harsh to say you hate children. They’re people too, and it’s unfair to throw “hate/visceral reaction against/DON’T LIKE” against a whole class of people. (Pet peeve of mine.)
@Spark: I kind of agree with Britni’s wording, except for “hate” (that’s always a little too strong). I have a visceral reaction to kids of certain ages that ranges from mild disgust to extreme annoyance. Either way, I don’t enjoy being around them. Like, at all. Like, if you try to get me to hold your kid, I’ll say no thanks unless it’s absolutely necessary.
@sarah.of.a.lesser.god: You are a lovely writer and I sometimes wish I had such easy connections to children. But, see sentences directly above.
@Britni @Spark @CloudsInMyCoffee: I think it’s better to admit to one’s dislike of being around kids than paste a phony smile on your face. “Hate” may be a strong word, but the little buggers can indeed sometimes be quite grating. And thank you for the kind words, CloudsInMyCoffee!
@Alli: For you, I would definitely slash my hourly rates! Plus, we could have a Lola pup playdate.
@NellMood: Thank you so much for sharing your own perspective/experiences on this. It’s always awesome to find someone else who knows just how rewarding (if not profitable) these jobs can be.
@Maritsa: Thanks! He’s a gigantic 2-year-old now, and still making funny faces like the one above.
I do like the little ones, especially in my position as aunt. This post reminded me of a job I had providing home care (non-medical, except for reminders to “take your pills”) to seniors. There were lots of rewarding experiences that helped me get over my “fear of old people,” and I met some wonderful people. But also: long shifts, irregular hours, dealing with difficult dementia patients. The kicker: the company paid the caregivers $6 an hour. This was about 3-4 years ago. Anyhow, keep blessing the lives of the children you meet!
@soalg: Just to clarify, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with acknowledging that you don’t have the patience to take care of kids. I know I don’t have what it takes to do the job you did. But you can express that you could never be a daycare worker or that you don’t want to have children yourself without saying nasty things about children. (This isn’t directed at Britni. I hear these sentiments often, especially when people are talking about why they choose not to have kids.) Children aren’t treated so kindly by patriarchy, either.
Teachers tell the best stories. The land of pork dumplings! So cute.
My sister worked in daycare for something like seven years. She adored most of her kids, and refused to take any crap from any of them. A couple of my favorite stories:
SisterB has a nasty scar on her arm – she managed to hurl herself through a plate glass window at a young age – but she never discussed it at work. One day, the ‘spooky’ kid (her name for him) walked up and said, “Miss B, did it hurt when you fell through the window?”
At the end of a particularly hectic day, SisterB was trying to get the kids suited up and ready before pickup. One kid kept coming up to her without his shoes, and when she asked, he would just say, “Hot shoes!” She finally broke down and asked him to take her to his shoes. He walked over to the play kitchen, took his shoes out of the ‘oven’ and announced in his best ‘why don’t the stupid grown ups get it voice, “HOT SHOES!”
She got all the maternal genes.