When most people think of Spring Break, they either think of time off, fun vacations, or of fond memories of their teenage years when they went on wild and crazy road trips to the beach. I work in drop-in childcare, so when I think of Spring Break, I think of beating my head against a brick wall.
Cuz let’s face it. When school’s out, a lot of people still have to work. And those people bring their kids to drop-in childcare centers. At the same time. After all the craziness that took place this week, I really feel like I deserve a t-shirt or something that says, “I Survived Spring Break at the Drop-In Center!”
Okay, okay, so it really was a lot of fun. In fact, I think that for a kid, spending Spring Break at the drop-in center might be good training for the wild and crazy road trips they’re probably going to take when they’re teenagers.
I was never cool enough to go on one of those wild and crazy Spring Break road trips, but I saw a movie about one of those wild and crazy Spring Break road trips once, so I figure I know all there is to know about them. Basically, you have a lot of young people dancing and running around, whilst making as much noise as humanly possible. Cars are zipping by, heedless of pedestrians. Beach balls are zooming through the air, knocking over anyone who dares to get in the way. People are doing weird and potentially dangerous things (like trying to race the riding cars down the slide), just because they can. Yeah. It’s just like that at the drop-in center during Spring Break.
We even had the obligatory Spring Break streakers and flashers, those rebel toddlers who decided pants were optional…we had to start doing "pants checks" at the bathroom doors....
And then there were the kids who couldn’t hold their apple juice, the ones that partied just a little too hard. The other bouncers child care providers and I even had to take matters into our own hands a few times. “Johnny, no more juice. You’ve had enough.” “I tew-woo when I haz enuff!” Johnny cried, right before passing out on a pillow in the movie center.
A few kids even had to go in time out for their reckless driving on the riding cars. You’ve never lived until you’ve issued a DUI to a seven-year-old.
Some kids tried to sneak some illegal, hazardous substances into the facility, but our staff is highly trained to detect and eliminate any potential breeches. “What’s that in your lunch box, Sally? That looks like a sandwich. What’s on that sandwich, Sally? That’s not sun butter, is it, Sally. No. That’s not soy butter, either. I know what kind of sandwich that is. You know, too, don't you, Sally? Do you know how many kids we have with peanut allergies, Sally? Hmm? Do you see the sign on the door that says we’re a peanut-free facility? Sigh. You leave me no choice. Looks like we’re going to have to call your mom and ask her what she wants us to order you from Subway, because your sandwich is contraband. Hand over the sandwich, Sally, nice and slow, and nobody gets hurt.”
Now, the saddest sight I saw all week was this one particular two-year-old. You could tell this kid had done some serious Spring Break partying in her younger days. But those days are over. Now, two years old, can’t hold down a job, no education, no spouse, not even potty trained. Life for her is pretty grim. I saw her slumped over in the corner, crying pathetically into a box of raisins that some generous soul had been kind enough to give her. I thought to myself, “For a toddler, it doesn’t get any lower than this.” Of course, it probably does. I mean, the substance abuse didn’t start with raisins, and it probably won’t end there. It probably started with Cheerios, the gateway drug of toddlers. The first handful is always free. Once addicted to Cheerios, many kids move on to the harder stuff. First, it’s a few Cheerios here, a box of raisins there. Before you know it, the Cheerios and raisins aren’t enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if she moves on to Goldfish crackers, especially with all the dealers here in the area. It’s a sad, sad life.
Yeah. You go ahead and cry into your raisins, kid.
The really interesting thing about this week at the drop-in center was that we had a new trainee. Trainees are so adorable in the way they have energy and care and want to do everything perfectly. Don’t get me wrong—I genuinely care about the kids and try to do my job well. It’s just that during Spring Break week, it becomes necessary to kick it into “Survival Mode.” I don’t think too far ahead; I just do what needs to be done when it needs to be done. My main goal: No one dies.
That’s very important. Yes.
Of course, there are lots of secondary goals, such as “Remember to feed the animals children” and “Investigate any unusual smells, puddles, etc.,” “Make sure Timmy isn’t trying to race the riding car down the slide again,” and “For the love of Mr. Potato Head, get that child to stop screaming!”
But in “Survival Mode,” I don’t have time to make sure that everything is perfect. Neither do the other workers. So when Perky Trainee encountered my “Survival Mode,” I think it kind of scared her a little. And it should scare her. It should scare her a lot.
Because I was once Perky Trainee. Once I thought that everything could be perfect. Once, I too, had a dream. I had a dream of 40 children playing quietly and peacefully together, giving the other workers and I adequate time to deep clean the entire facility and do all the administrative work whilst dancing to show tunes, turning cartwheels, and flinging handfuls of white rose petals into the air. Yes, I once had a dream, Perky Trainee. I had a dream.
But my soul has died.
Yours is next.
Toss back a handful of Goldfish crackers, sweetie, and get used to it.
The good thing about “Survival Mode” is that it forces one to be creative in difficult situations. For instance, during snack time one day this past week, I decided there were too many kids to bother with conventional snack time things—like tables, chairs, plates, cups…and real food. No, no. Inspired by the genius of a fellow worker, I had all the kids sit down in a large mob on the carpet. Then I started flinging packets of fruit snacks (which aren’t real food—they’re like glorified gummy bears—which might be an even harder kid drug than Goldfish) into their midst. The kids liked this, though they seemed a bit weirded out. I suspect they might have been less weirded out had I not gone a bit crazy and started exclaiming, “FRUIT SNACKS! FRUIT SNACKS FOR EVERYONE! YES! HAHA! FRUIT SNACKS FOR THE CHILDREN! MUWAHAHAHA!” in a semi-creepy voice. For no apparent reason.
I made sure that every child got exactly one packet of fruit snacks, though a small part of me wondered what would have happened if I had just thrown one packet of fruit snacks in the air and let them fight over it. That sounds horrible, but I would only be doing them a favor. It would have been excellent preparation for the annual celebration of kids beating each other senseless in a free-for-all melee to locate and acquire plastic eggs.
Yes. The main school system here was kind enough to schedule their Spring Break the week before Easter, just so all the drop-in childcare workers would end their “I Survived” week with one last SHABANG! Wasn’t that nice of them?
You know what I think? I think that Easter Egg Hunts can almost, almost be compared with the Hunger Games. (And maybe I’m slightly obsessed with the Hunger Games. And maybe I’ve considered naming a future pet “Peeta Mellark.” And maybe I wish Mockingjays were real because I kind of sort of want one (potentially named Peeta Mellark). And maybe I want to be Effie Trinket for Halloween. And maybe I’ve been braiding my hair more often lately because it makes me feel like Katniss Everdeen. And maybe I’M AWESOME DON’T JUDGE ME!)
I mean, you’ve got these kids hunting eggs. Sounds simple and innocent enough, right? But, dude, kids take Easter Egg hunts pretty seriously. I mean, I’ve seen kids risk permanent self injury in order to grab an egg before their “friend” can reach it. I’ve seen kids shamelessly steal eggs from other kids’ baskets. I’ve seen kids who seemed willing to fight to the death over a pastel colored egg that might hold the coveted Starburst candy, or might hold the lame stickers. The kids don’t even know what’s inside, but they want it. They want it bad.
And luckily, at the drop-in center, parents aren’t there for the Easter Egg hunts—but I’ve witnessed parents do some ridiculous stuff in order to make sure their little Suzie gets more eggs than the neighbor’s kid. You wanna see some good wrestling? Forget that stuff they show on Spike TV. Just go to a nice family Easter Egg hunt.
…or come spend your next Spring Break at the drop-in center. You, too, can be a Survivor! You won’t get a tshirt, but there’s Goldfish.
The first handful is free.
Disclaimer (AKA the stuff I feel the need to say so I hopefully won’t get fired): Work was hectic this week, but it was also a lot of fun for both the kids and for me. I was thankful for an opportunity to see many familiar kids/families I haven’t seen in a while, as well as meet new kids/families. I enjoyed playing some group games with the kids that we don’t usually play. There were so many kids of different backgrounds, ages, and personalities, and it was awesome seeing how they interacted. The kids all went home, not only alive (always a good thing), but also mostly happy, well-fed, and (when applicable) with dry/clean diapers (and pants). The drop-in center(s) where I work are safe, clean, fun places for kids to play. The staff is attentive and caring. I will tell you that the “Survival Mode” bit is true—sometimes we have to just do what it takes to keep everyone safe, but under normal circumstances, the “Survival Mode” is not needed. Any crying/unhappy children described above were not being neglected or ignored in any way. They were just in need of a good nap—and possibly a box of Sunmaids…. I can laugh about the things that happened this week, and write about them in a humorous way, because life is funny and kids are funny. Life with kids is even funnier. And I’m just grateful for the amazing privilege of caring for the some of the most precious little people in the world. …I’m more grateful when those precious little people aren’t screaming their heads off, but…that’s why God invented ibuprofen. …and chocolate. …and coffee. …and, yes, Goldfish crackers.
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