Don’t worry, you aren’t the only one who opens these emails just to see how ridiculously cute Baby Girl gets every week.
Awfully Cranky
In the BBG times, child care was a thing I had to account for as a manager. Not as a parent.
I tried to understand the stresses parents faced balancing work, life and young children. I thought I was flexible. I thought I treated the parents who worked with me well. Maybe I did. Maybe I didn’t.
But I can tell you one thing. Society does not treat parents well. Because, now I realize that for parents of young children, child care is gold bullion and we are all saying, “Please, take all my money,” to whatever child care is good and affordable.
Fortunately, there are many (but not nearly enough) wonderful people to care for our children; but, they are paid nowhere near enough. So, for years, the industry has struggled. And the pandemic dealt a near fatal blow
Earlier this year, the bipartisan Council for a Strong America released a report that found:
The nation’s infant-toddler child care crisis now costs $122 billion in lost earnings, productivity, and revenue every year.
More than half of U.S. residents (51 percent) live in a child care “desert,” where there are more than three children under age 5 for every licensed child care slot (60 percent of rural residents live in a child care desert).
The average cost of center-based child care for infants is more than in-state, public college tuition in 34 states and the District of Columbia.
The pandemic pulled the rug out from an industry that was already on shaky footing. Particularly for non-White families. In April 2021, approximately 27.5 percent of White families were exposed to child care closures. Meanwhile, according to researchers, an estimated 37.6 percent of Black families, 40.1 percent of Latino families, and 42.4 percent of Asian families were exposed to child care closures.”
Unsurprisingly, research published by the American Psychological Association found that, “Children who receive high-quality child care as babies, toddlers and preschoolers do better in science, technology, engineering and math through high school, and that link is stronger among children from low-income backgrounds.”
The American Rescue Plan Act, passed in 2021, saved the child care industry from complete collapse. Some $24 billion in relief funds served 220,000 child care providers, saved the jobs of more than 1 million early educators, and enabled continued care for as many as 9.6 million children.
Funding which may very well disappear by the end of the month if Congress does not renew support. According to The Century Foundation, these cuts would eliminate 3.2 million child care spots, and likely close 70,000 programs.
Look, I’ve said it once and I will say it again, our family is ridiculously fortunate on many levels. We have access to child care, we are able to afford it and, if we are in a pinch, we have family nearby who can help.
But, for too many families in our nation, child care is truly a, “Please, take all my money,” situation. It’s ridiculous.
Funding child care, fixing our child care system, should be a top priority. It’s not and that makes me awfully cranky.
Skinny Jeans
I remember my first day in 8th grade because all the girls did a double take and said to me, with a raised eyebrow, “Your voice changed.” Little did I know this would be the pinnacle of my romantic successes for quite a while.
In any case, somehow or another, the junior high jazz chorale teacher got wind of gravely pipes and I was summoned to the chorus room.
I remember standing at the piano humming some unintelligible sound, feeling rather goofy, until she said, “You could sing solos.”
This was too much for my fragile junior high ego. Raised eyebrows and sing solos? All in one week? Shit. I was a cool kid.
But I had a problem. Jazz chorale and journalism were offered during at the same time. So I had to choose one. Or, more specifically, my parents were going to choose one. I knew my days as a cool kid were coming to an end before they even started.
That evening, I nervously made my case to ditch journalism and become a singer. “But she said I could sing solos,” I pleaded.
Long story short, instead of wearing skinny jeans and living the life of a rock and roll legend (RIP Jan Wenner’s reputation), I’m sending you meandering Substack posts.
Look, I love my parents and respect their decision. But their granddaughter is suffering as a result.
See, Toya is an amazing singer. She has melody, rhythm, energy. Every time Mom breaks out in song, Anisa’s eyes light up, her hands smack together, she beams with love.
I have zero melody, rhythm or energy. So when I sing, Baby Girl’s moment of joy becomes a deep sadness and confusion as she watches me mumble, bite my lip and start sweating because I am making up words. It’s a lifetime of disappointment in your Daddy, Baby Girl. Get used to it.
So, what’s my point here?
Will I let Anisa pursue her artistic dreams, at the expense of a “skill”? Maybe? Maybe not? I’ll be honest with you, it is hard to tell.
But I do want her to be creative. Because, even if I can’t sing worth shit, reading and writing fosters my creativity. So, wherever Baby Girl gets her creative inspiration is good for me.
What I’m Reading
If you are interested in political polarization, read Rachel Kleinfeld’s new paper, “Polarization, Democracy, and Political Violence in the United States: What the Research Says.”
I am really enjoying Wendell Berry’s “The World-Ending Fire.” Such a fascinating collection of essays on land, rural America, farming and beyond. Although, I have to admit I wasn’t expecting: “Like industrial sex, industrial eating has become a degraded, poor and paltry thing.”
What I’m Watching
There was a point in time my Dad watched a lot of professional wrestling. After the day was done, he would just sit and laugh at the hysterics. And, I admit going through a serious Hulk Hogan phase. So I’m really enjoying Netflix’s “Wrestlers,” following the story of Ohio Valley Wrestling - which, years ago, gave rise to John Cena. It’s people just trying to make it in their version of show biz.
What I’m Cooking
For Toya’s birthday (Happy Birthday!), she requested enchiladas, nachos, and the whole spread. We invited over some friends and neighbors, and I did fresh salsa verde, roasted poblanos, nopales, trays of enchiladas, fresh rice and beans. Solid margaritas. Even better martinis. If I was better at my job as a journalist (maybe I should have done the singing thing), I would have photos. But, I felt pretty good about the results when the kids down the street said, “This food is good.”