Lately, our local media has been covering a trial that I can't even bear to read about. The trial is that of a daycare worker, who, frustrated with other kids in the class, threw a boy down on the floor, causing him to hit his head. I can't bring myself to read the articles, but Husband (who has read some of the coverage) tells me that the little boy picked himself up off of the floor, got his teddy bear and went to his favorite chair to console himself. And then died.
I have goose bumps and tears and my eyes just typing those words. My heart breaks for that little boy. For his parents. His sister. His twin. There aren't words for me to express the pain I feel for that family. I pray for them every day. But even mustering all of my faith, I can't see how this family manages to live with the pain of that loss. It must be unbearable.
Every day we working parents put our children in the hands of people who we pray have our childrens' best interests at heart. People who we hope will always do right by our kids. Who will recognize their own limitations and walk away when necessary. People who start out as strangers, but end up as extensions of our families. I've voiced plenty of complaints about daycare on this blog: the kids are always sick, it costs a fortune, everything you send there gets lost. But the truth is, these things are minor complaints. Our daycare does the important things right. Like taking good care of my kids. That's more than worth the cost of tuition.
I'm thankful for the teachers who watch out for my two little ones. As a parent, I know how frustrating two kids can be. I can only imagine what it is like to handle a room full of two-year-olds day after day. I admire my kids' teachers. For being patient. For being kind. For knowing when to walk away. But most of all, for loving my children the way I love my children. And always putting the kids first.