The Teacher-Mommy Paradox

We recently placed our precious, almost-not-a-baby-anymore in childcare for the first time.  Our son Tyler is two years old, and I'm a teacher who is blessed to be at home with him during summer vacations and holiday breaks.  Outside of that, he has received the most incredible home care ever from my mother-in-law, AKA Gigi, for the last two years.  So it's fair to say that at the very least, my bar when it comes to childcare is set pretty high.

Even so, I never realized just how hard it would be to entrust my child to the care of a stranger.

As a veteran teacher with 14 years of experience bringing clingy helicopter parents back down to earth and fending off anxious mama bears, I was determined not to be that mom.  I would not send needy emails, I would not cry when I dropped my kid off on the first day (or the 10 days after that...), I would not question the teacher's actions, and I would fully and completely trust that my son's needs were being met while he was away from me each day.

Then, on the night before his first day of school, I found myself clicking away at an email to the teacher.  I wanted her to know that Tyler had been at home with Gigi and Mommy for two years, just in case he had any trouble adjusting.  And just in case she needed help understanding his toddler speak, I translated a few words for her.  Oh, and I needed to let her know that we've been working on 'time out' as a consequence.  And...  What was supposed to be a quick one-liner turned into a 30 minute dissertation about my son's strengths and weaknesses, suggestions for interventions should he not comply with the teacher's wishes, a list of favorite things that make him happy, and on, and on, and on.  I even went back and apologized in the first paragraph and promised not to ever send her an email that long again.  

I tried to justify my actions to myself, but really it was just my way of coping with the fact that I felt like I was abandoning my child by sending him to school.  The first drop off was tearful, but I left feeling fairly confident that Tyler was in good hands.

Then, when I arrived to pick him up on the second day of school, I could hear the raised voice of one of the teachers through the two closed doors that led to the classroom.  I walked in and quickly scanned the room, and this is what I saw:

• One child had completely lost his composure.  He was banging on the gate that divides the room as though he were trying to escape from prison, calling for his mommy, snot and tears pouring down his face. 
• My child was crying and following the teacher around, seemingly in need of comfort.
• The teacher's frustration was made obvious by her body language and tone of voice with the children.
• The teacher was not attempting to comfort either upset child.

I went to Tyler and picked him up, and the teacher told me he had become upset because of the other child's distress.  I could understand, because I was becoming upset by the other child's distress in just the few short minutes I'd been standing there.  As we stood talking, the teacher completely ignored the melting-down child, and at one point sarcastically chided two little girls for playing in the sink.

We left, and I cried all the way home because I kept seeing my sweet boy in the rearview mirror, his eyes all red and swollen, and I could hear the whimpery breath-catching that happens after you've had a really long, hard cry.  I felt like a terrible mother who had let her child down and left him in the care of someone who didn't care about his needs.

I couldn't help but wonder about this teacher.  Why wasn't she comforting either child?  Why did I walk in to find her raising her voice at them in frustration, rather than on her knees holding them in her arms?  And why was she using sarcasm with two year olds?  Of course they're playing in the sink - they're two and they've never had a sink at eye level before!

And then I had to take a moment and say to myself, "You have no idea what happened in that classroom before you walked in."

Maybe she had tried everything to comfort them.  Maybe they had been crying nonstop for over an hour and she was about to lose her ever-loving mind.  Maybe just before I walked in, one of them hit or pushed her in frustration, as I know my child has done to me before.  Or maybe, just maybe, she has enough experience to know when toddlers need to be held, and when they need a firm voice to tell them to get a grip.  At the end of the day, I have no way of knowing what transpired before I walked in.  The only things I know for sure are that Tyler's school has a stellar reputation, and that I've heard only rave reviews from every friend whose child has attended.

This was the moment when the teacher-mommy paradox became my new reality.  While I could reason through the teacher's point of view and feel fully confident that she was more than capable of handling her responsibilities without my quick-scan-of-the-room assessments, I was also now looking through the lense of a mother who has a responsibility to protect a tiny human being who can't protect himself.

Years ago, before kids were even on my radar, the most insulting thing someone could say to me as a teacher was, "Oh, you just can't understand because you don't have kids."  I hated this oversimplification of my abilities.  As an experienced educator who had clocked more hours of 'experience' with kids than any single one of my friends who were mothers, I felt that it was possible for me to understand.

But now I know with certainty that it is truly impossible to understand the feelings, hopes, fears, desires, judgements, or motives of a mother whose only priority is to protect her baby.  I know that until you have children of your own, you cannot understand what it means to love something so much it hurts.  I thought I understood this through my love for my husband, but it is a different feeling entirely, because you are responsible for your child in a way you will never be responsible for anyone else.  And even when you're not responsible, say for the tears rolling down your child's cheeks, you feel like you are.

So here are my takeaways:

To the teachers:  Be patient with parents.  They love their children so much it hurts, so much that they sometimes cry just watching them sleep.  Be kind to the hearts of mamas and daddies by taking good care of their children.  Remember that the most important thing in the world to them is that their children are happy and loved.  And don't forget to affirm their belief that their child is the most amazing human being ever created.  It really hurts a mama's heart when someone else doesn't recognize her baby's greatness.

To the mamas and daddies:  Be patient with teachers.  Respect the neverending training that is required of them, and feel confident that they are well-equipped to meet your child's individual needs.  Remember that just like you, the teacher wants what is best for your child.  Remember that there is no way for you to know what happened when you weren't in the room, and you can't always count on your child to tell you.    

To the childless:  Be patient with those who tell you that you can't understand unless you have children.  They're right.  If you plan to have children, just wait.  Someday you'll understand.  And if you don't plan to have children, just try to put yourself in the shoes of those who do.  You can't, but try anyways.



For two years, I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that my child's needs were being met and that his greatness was recognized by the one who cared for him while I spent my days with other people's children.  I knew that when he was upset, Gigi held and comforted him.  And when I came home each day, she told me how wonderful and perfect he was and how much she enjoyed her day with him.

Three weeks into the school year, I have seen my child cry on his way into or out of school more days than I've seen him smile, and neither of his teachers has told me anything that makes me think they recognize his greatness.  The thing is, I know that he's happy during the day when I'm not able to see it, because I hear the excitement in his voice when he talks about 'cool.  And I know the teachers have to think he's wonderful even if they don't say it, because I know for a fact that he is.

The teacher-mommy paradox is a tricky one.  My hope is that it has opened my eyes in ways that will help make me both a better teacher and mother.  I hope this year that parents will feel confident that their children's needs are being met during the 8 hours they spend with me.  I hope I'll remember to affirm my students' greatness to their parents.  And I hope that I'll parent my child in a way that makes him great in the eyes of his teachers.