It seems like such a short time ago when I put out the call for help with my daycare. I enlisted two wonderful teenagers, who stayed with me up until last year (ahem, the Covid year). I was lucky and they were amazing. But time moves on and I found myself thinking about new "daycare helpers" for this summer. This time I looked no further than my own (almost) thirteen year old, Max.
I offered him the part, listed out his duties and expectations, and discussed pay. He eagerly accepted...because where else is a thirteen year old going to earn money? Wednesday marked his first day "on the job," but in truth he's been in this role for years. Littles have always loved Max and he accepted it. Even when typical ten year old wouldn't want to have a two or three year old tagging around, asking for another push on the swing, Max did it. Willingly and lovingly.
I'm proud of this kid and his kind, gentle ways. He's grown up with a daycare in the house, so most of it comes naturally to him at this point. The craziest thing (for me, at least) is that Max is the now the same age that my first set of helpers came! How did that happen??
A certain furry black thing seems to think he's a "helper" too, but really he's the reason I shout, "no!"