> SOUTHERN INDIANA — For the last five years the same group of women at Malysz Daycare have fed, nurtured, and loved my children nearly every Monday through Friday from 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. While I sit in meetings, write newsletters, and answer emails, they wipe noses, change diapers, and sing songs. We are a tag-team; they keep my kids safe and dry from the time I drop them off until I take the lead again at the end of my workday.

I couldn't live the life I do without them. They make it possible for my husband and I to have the careers we have.

This summer, I decided to change my in-office work hours so that I could be home when my grade-schooler got on and off the bus. The plan was to leave my office in Louisville early enough to get my son from daycare and head home before the school bus arrived. My CEO approved my new work schedule request; and then, the NA-FC school system threw a wrench in my perfectly laid plans. Grade school start times were moved up an hour earlier. The new start time made it impossible for me to pick up my son from daycare and still make it home in time to meet the school bus.

The one day I tried (the second day of school) was a disaster. I was pulling into my subdivision as my daughter's bus was pulling out. Just as I realized that it was her bus, Georgetown Elementary was calling my cell phone to tell me that my daughter was being brought back to school as school policy dictates no student can be taken to an empty house.

The worst part was that my daughter had spent the week before agonizing over riding the bus. I even wrote a column about it. Every night leading up to the first day of school included a talk where I did my best to calm her fears. I told her that the bus would take her to school and bring her home. She had nothing to worry about — nothing except her mother not being home when the bus dropped her off.

I followed her bus back into the parking lot that day and stood holding her brother as she departed the bus and ran toward me with a quivering bottom lip and tears streaming down her face. My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach. There’s nothing worse than when your child is hurt because of something you did (or failed to do).   

After the bus debacle, I knew something had to change. My new routine worked well enough for my daughter, but my son was spending more time at daycare than before I had changed my in-office work hours. Instead of picking him up on the way home, I was going back to town to get him after my daughter was home from school. What good was my new schedule if it only got me more time with one of my kids?

So I considered briefly the idea of finding a daycare facility closer to my house that would enable me to get my son and still make it in time to beat the bus. I argued daily with my inner voice. There was no way I could find people who I loved as much as I loved the women who were caring for my son. But the hour-long roundtrip drive to my New Albany daycare smack in the middle of rush hour was killing me. And the original plan to be with my kids — both of my kids — for a longer portion of the day was not happening.

I thought about a new daycare a bit more. I learned about a place where two of my family members sent their boys. It was near my house; the owner was a friend of the family; and my son would get to play with his cousins. I made a visit. I met the staff. I timed how long it would take me to get from work to there and then to home (I could make it and still be at my house before the school bus arrived).

And then I did the hardest thing I have had to do in all my time working in tandem with Malysz Daycare. I sat down with the owner, and over tears, explained why I had to move my son to a new place. She was gracious and understanding and compassionate. She and the rest of her staff never once made me feel badly about my decision. Many of them are mothers too, they understood. I love them for this. Most of all, I love them for the love they have given my son over the last two years. I will miss them like crazy and be forever grateful for the time I had with them.



Amy Gesenhues is a freelance writer who lives in Floyd County. You can read her daily commentaries at www.AmyWroteIt.Wordpress.com. E-mail her directly at amy@amywroteit.com.